4 Little Winter Tales, part I
by EllieMP
Summary: We often don't realise how much can happen in a short time. In this events-packed story, Peter finds himself helping more people than he expected while facing an old enemy. Back in the city the 1-0-1 gang has can't catch a break - from snobbish Feds and some traffickers, to missing people and a circus. And by the way - Uncle Martin's back in town, and he's got a new crush...
1. Prologue

Prologue

 _Chinese New Year '200_ _0_

First night at home… for what, weeks? Maybe that's why she couldn't sleep, she had started feeling home at the hospital. And those beds turned out way comfier than she expected….

After yet another visit to the bathroom she dragged exhausted feet to the window and leaned on the frame. She didn't need light, the winter night was bright enough. Because of the tall hedge the ground floor didn't offer much of a view other than the silent snowfall but she didn't mind. She didn't even miss her spacious bedroom and their king size bed. With a smile she took a peek at the half open door of the guest room, just… just in case, to make sure this was not another dream. Then her attention returned to the window.

This was not a dream.

All she needed and cared for in this world was in the small bedroom. Almost all.

She wrapped arms around her belly and her mind drifted to the past year. As if it was yesterday when she started preparing for her assignment to Mexico. The morning she returned to Sloanville felt like it had happened hours ago. She had planned to go back home in China when she was done, but Fate had something else in mind.

Tired eyes started closing but she resisted. She giggled, still not completely believing the surreal roller-coaster of events that had changed hers and the lives of so many. And there she was now, living a profoundly different life, in _her_ home in Sloanville, having a… _family_.

She shuddered. Having got used to happiness too easy, the events of the last weeks caught her completely unprepared. When her world nearly shattered she was brutally reminded how fragile happiness was. Now, after the agony of accepting the unacceptable there she was, back home, adjusting, yet again, to happiness.

She was about to surrender to another wave of tears when she sensed she was not alone…

 **XXXXX**

 _February '99_

Henry DuJeanne was a nervous man, not by disposition, but as a result of his current state of affairs. He had married a visibly docile woman, who despite her mental issues easily agreed with his ideas, and yet she somehow always seemed to do just what she wanted.

Henry was trying to protect them from impending evil and he couldn't figure out whether his wife still wanted to escape or had finally decided to give up. He had bought them a house in a village that was not even on the map, he took care of every detail that proved they've ever been in Paris, and despite all of this she kept coming back, always to one specific little (and very smelly!) shop.

'This will be the last time I'm dealing with you.'

'It isn't up to me, monsieur.'

'She is not to step here again, you understand?'

'I can't stop her.'

'Well, you'll find a way!'

Henry never understood his wife's interest in that place. It had nothing but dried weeds and old furniture. He even suspected she might be having an affair with the owner.

He was just getting caught in the heat of the moment when the door opened and an odd looking stranger got in. The angry man sneered at the archaic looking oddball and returned his attention to the shop owner.

'I'm warning you! My wife is not welcome here any more!'

The man shrugged.

'And I'm telling you it's not up to me who comes to my shop and who doesn't.'

Henry hit the desk with his fist and fled out, demonstratively shoving the newcomer on his way out.

'Is everything alright?'

'Ah, Monsieur… Yes, yes, everything is alright. This man, he… he has many problems.'

'But he threatened you.'

'Nah, he's done it before, nothing to worry about.'

Mr Clarette carefully took three paper bags.

'There they are, just as your father asked. Took me a whole night to sort them.'

'We are both very grateful. Is it difficult to find these herbs?'

'Sometimes it is, but my family has been doing this for hundreds of years, we know where to look. They're just so rare that very few people know of them… and I have so many kinds here, as you can see.'

'Yes. Again, I am grateful. I believe this should be enough for several months at least….Mr Clarette?'

'I'm sorry… I got thinking of Mrs DuJeanne.'

'Who?'

'Ehm, the wife of the imbecile who just left. Such a kind, lovely woman, I don't understand what she's doing with this man, she has implied several times that she fears him.'

'If she needs help…'

'I know, I've thought of you many times. I'll keep you in mind.'

'Does she come here often?'

'Quite so, yes, especially after they closed café _La Lune_. Every time she comes here she tries a different tea, you know that our teas…'

'…are the finest in the whole of Paris, yes, I know. …Tell me… did you mean the café in the park across the main road?'

'Yes, yes, with a lovely view to the Eiffel Tower. It's some useless boutique now, Dior or the like.'

'And you say that this Mrs DuJeanne used to go there often?'

'But of course, she was there every day from Monday to Friday at 4 o'clock sharp, she had become the symbol of _La Lune_ , tourists were even taking pictures with her. …Such a kind woman…'

Clarette's customer felt his body slowly turn cold. He stretched to grab change and pay but together with his hand-woven wallet a piece of paper fell on the counter.

'Oh, you dropped this…'

'Thank you.' Then he stopped. '…You know… This photo has been taken at that same café, perhaps the lady you mentioned might help me find this woman…'

Mr Clarette didn't even need to look closely.

'Hehe, that won't be necessary, that's her!'

'Her?'

'Yes, here, that's her, that's Mrs DuJeanne!'

 **XXXXX**


	2. Back and Forth

Back and Forth

Detective Harris was not in a mood. Her case was about to be closed after that moron Franklin threatened to complain for police harassment (she tried her best to be civil during her second visit, she really did…). Not to mention a former cop who apparently used to be a big deal and now couldn't remember what he'd eaten last week. At least he could walk… Again.

Nervously she pushed the hospital door. Peter's sprained ankle had miraculously fixed itself overnight. However by the end of the same day he was having so vivid memory flashes he had blacked out. The young cop found him sitting for a friendly chat with Dr Craig in the ER.

'You can tell me only if you want.'

Peter puffed.

'I… Well, I've seen myself fighting, I've been hit, too, I…' Peter massaged his temple.

'It's OK, Peter, take it easy.'

'...I hear this music, very nice music. I smell the sea… And I'm scared. I'm horrified. Is it normal to remember… feelings?'

'Of course it is. This will speed up the actual recovery, so that's very good.'

'Well…'

This was when Detective Harris entered.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt…'

'It's fine, come in, please.'

Peter livened up significantly when he saw a known face. He had felt very guilty when he dissed such a pretty woman last night. He never comprehended why he did that.

Encouraged by the handsome priest Joanna pulled a chair and joined them. She explored his features while he was talking, and couldn't help but wonder why such a specimen was still single.

'What else is bothering you?' continued Dr Craig.

'It is… it is this scene… I'm dressed with a silk shirt, must have been the summer. I'm at the house of an old man, he's my master.'

'Your what?..'

'Teacher.'

'OK…'

'He…. He has to be the best and kindest man I've known and yet…' Peter's face strained. The scene of him being so angry at the Ancient was the first thing he remembered during his meditation last night. It had been plaguing him the whole day.

' _He has been alone, completely alone, all this time…'_

The loud voice was practically deafening any other thought Peter was trying to have.

' _I… will never forgive you for what you did to him… and to me.'_

It wasn't only anger he sensed, it was hatred, pure hatred.

' _Ever.'_

What had the Ancient done that made Peter hate him? After everything they've been through, after everything the kind, old man had done for him and his father…

Peter's eyes looked at the MD begging for some sort of help.

'Look, Peter, you shouldn't try so hard, it will come.'

'I know it will,' mumbled the younger man. 'I can see it, I can.. _feel_ it… It's like I'm watching a film with me as the lead… But every time I turn, the sound and picture disappear. It's like… I **can** see it, I **can** hear it… but I don't want to.'

'The way you're describing it does sound like self-preservation, just as I thought.'

'That thing again.'

'Is this scene happening near the sea and the music you mentioned earlier?'

'No, not at all, these are… Completely different places… No idea where.'

'But you said that while there you've sensed fear?'

'Fear, yes, and shock… A feeling that makes me sick in the stomach.'

'Well, whatever it is, you don't seem to have had the time of your life.'

Peter shrugged.

'It looks like a lot has happened for you in a relatively short time. And your brain is protecting itself. It's probably been overloaded.'

'Right…'

'You know how on the computer we put files in the Recycle Bin?'

'Yes…'

'They're gone, yet they're still there, in the computer, but in a place where they don't bother you.'

'I see.'

'I think that's what's happening. The memories are there, they haven't been erased, they're just… hidden… And, since they seem to be quite intense, this may explain why they were the first thing to resurface in your head.'

'What are you suggesting?'

'Don't push it. Don't force yourself to remember or you may black out again. Go back to work if you feel like it.'

'Doctor.. I don't think I have so much time. I need to remember as much as I can before I get back to the big city.'

'I think your family's help would be of great use here.'

Involuntarily Peter moved. After few seconds of awkward silence he got up.

'I should better go. Detective?'

'I'm here…'

'Let's see the new evidence and bust somebody, shall we?'

'I'd love that.'

Dr Craig didn't even have the chance to object. Before he said anything, Peter and his temporary partner were on their way out. Nobody understood the sudden change.

 **XXXXX**

'You've got to be kidding me!'

'Do I look like I'm kidding?'

'What… Because of his name?!'

Despite being superbly trained into expecting the unexpected, Kermit Griffin was not expecting _this_ turn of events.

'Yes.'

Demonstratively Tara threw a couple of folders on her desk and nested in her chair.

'But you knew his name…' Kermit stopped and considered. '…Only you didn't know… his family name…'

The huge black eyes glared at him glittering with pressing tears and hastily returned to the paperwork.

'Oh, no… Come on!'

Tara lifted an eyebrow.

'Oh, no, no, no…'

'What?'

'You're not doing this to me. Oh, no, no.'

'To you?'

'I should have seen this coming.' Kermit started pacing around the small office. 'Why should I simply deliver you safe and sound here, he's a Caine, after all, there _had_ to be something.'

'There is – he's a Caine.'

'No way.'

'Kermit…'

'I don't wanna hear.'

'Can't I explain?'

'No! You are meeting him, one way or another.'

'But…'

'No!'

Kermit waved a finger threateningly and left. Tara was amused but her mood didn't change.

 **X**

After leaving a tiny village in the debts of huge China, a sixteen-year-old Tara Jahn had been immersed into the whirlpool of the Western World of which she had only heard tales and legends. Surprisingly, the slender girl turned out to be tougher than most men, and she quickly grew into a confident woman with fierce intelligence and inhumane self-control.

When Interpol thought they'd come along a gold mine equipped with an IQ of about 150, they were merely being played by that same IQ. Young Tara had found it easy to win her battles, be it physical or intellectual ones. Her mind allowed her to be always a couple of moves ahead, while her training made men two times her size fear and respect her. Until this day Tara had never lost. She hit before she was hit, and she answered before she was even asked. She had never been dumped, nor had she ever been heartbroken.

 _Once_ , once in her life had Tara Jahn left things uncared for, and there was going to be a price to pay.

 **X**

Tara ran fingers through her freely flowing hair. Then she sighed and slowly started putting it back to a tight and tall bun, a style she dearly detested, but which was necessary for her line of work.

How could she let this happen? She had mastered the art of emotional detachment to perfection. How could a complete stranger have such an effect on her?

Decisively she slammed a folder onto her desk and got up. Few of her officers wanted to speak to her but nobody dared approach the chief as she was crossing the squad room like a storm cloud.

'It's still no,' calmly said Kermit without lifting eyes from the computer screen.

'Our operation with the Feds? Cool.'

He looked at her annoyed.

'Sadly this is still on,' sighed Kermit and checked his watch. 'They should have been here by now.'

'Mhm...' Tara pretended to look annoyed. 'So, what do you think of my plan?'

'Hey, you're the strategy genius, I'm only a retired mercenary.'

'I just need to know you'll back me up, that's all I'm asking for.'

'You convince Marsters, don't worry about me.'

Tara nodded and headed for the door.

'And… that other thing…'

'We'll talk later.'

 **XXXXX**

 _One day earlier_

Mayor Blake was going through the necessary daily pile of pointless paperwork that every self-respecting mayor should go through, when the speaker interrupted.

'Visitor, Miss Mayor.'

'Name?'

''Mr Greg Franklin…'

Penny the secretary heard a groan.

'Let the idiot in.'

Franklin found the mayor quite annoyed, tapping well maintained nails on the polished surface of her 150-year-old desk.

'What in 'Do not contact me here' did you not understand?'

'Depends, what part of 'Going back to jail' did you forget?'

He sat and patronisingly crossed legs.

'We've got a problem.'

'What, one insignificant cop? Don't be ridiculous.'

'I didn't mean Harris.'

'I didn't either, she's not even in the picture.'

'I know, it's the other guy, Caine…'

'He's a cop, too, dope.'

'No, he's not.'

'I'm pretty sure he is.'

'Never mind that. This man simply refuses to die.'

'I told you to send more men.'

'Five sentenced murderers get sent to the ER by one cop? I don't think so.'

'Caine's not the problem, he barks but doesn't bite. It's the old man who beat them up.'

'What old man? What are you talking about?'

'He may not have paid you a visit yet but he'll turn up. He's the dangerous one. Remove him and the cop won't be an issue.'

'The Sting never mentioned an old man.'

'What about the hospital?'

'I can't get in contact with Al, security's too tight. Besides, he's also in the ER…'

The mayor considered.

'Look at that, the priest has gone bad...'

'Priest?'

'Never mind that. There are many ways to remove obstacles. Just carry on.'

'Sure?'

'Think how far we've gone, Greg. It's the final lap, you want to give up now? Carry on with the plan, and if the cops keep interfering, we'll just have to get a bit more creative, that's all.'

'I think we should wait.'

'Can your Ferrari fund wait?'

'I just don't want them to link me to the murders and… the rest,' Franklin hissed. 'You know what happens then, right?'

'Don't you dare threaten me!' She looked outside then an idea flashed. 'Did you find a scapegoat as I advised?'

'Sure, he's perfect.'

'Then use him.'

'Thought this was supposed to be an emergency backup?'

'And what is it you call emergency, Greg?'

He sighed.

'OK, cool, I'll play that card. Maybe it's for the better, before this place get swarming with SWAT team and big-city cops.'

'It won't. If they haven't turned up yet, Caine's either on an assignment against captain's orders, or just taking time off. In any case, if nobody turned up after we sent him to the hospital, they won't turn up now. Just carry on.'

Franklin nodded and got up.

'And… is tonight still on?'

'Don't push your luck.'

At last alone the mayor tapped on the floor and took a sip of warm coffee.

'I was keeping you as a desert, Caine… But a main meal? I don't mind if I do.'

 **XXX**

 _Same time, Sloanville_

It wasn't the job, it was the others' glances she feared, the pity, the inevitable flow of How-are-you-s and It's-going-to-be-OK-s.

Detective Janice Morgan slipped into the squad room earlier than her shift was due. All she knew was that they had a new Chief and that she had been taken from Vice. So much the better, the pity at the Vice team was of the worst kind; sad looks, lame patting on the shoulder, a couple of pathetic I-ll-take-care-of-that-s…

She was making herself angrier and nearly missed the stretched hand.

'Hi, Detective Morris, just starting.'

He was handsome. She didn't care.

'Detective Morgan, hi.'

She greeted him with an even tone and took a second too long to notice the change in his expression. He knew! Of course he knew… They all did. They all pitied her.

She should have let him kill her.

Morgan continued the walk of shame to her new desk in the opposite side of the squad room. She was to be right next to TJ, not so bad.

She set to arrange her new corner when the captain's door opened and a disturbingly beautiful Chinese woman emerged. At first Morgan thought she was a victim but then, her appallingly slim waist sported a holstered gun, so… was not…

The woman headed straight for the newcomer's desk.

'Detective Morgan, I presume,' said she with a polite smile and stretched hand.

Morgan got up.

'Det. Janice Morgan, nice to meet you.'

'Tara Jahn… also known as your new Chief,' added she in a low voice.

Morgan nodded and smiled. She didn't know what else to do; letting her new chief know how unreasonably young she thought her to be, on her first day back, was not a wise thing to do.

Tara broke the awkward silence.

'How do you like your new desk?'

'Very well, thank you. It… it's a fresh look at things here.'

'I thought you might like it, it was my idea giving you this corner.'

Morgan smiled and nodded again. Did her new chief _even_ know?

Without saying a word Tara moved a nearby desk, dialled an internal line and returned two minutes later.

'Detective Morgan, would you like to come with me, please?'

Morgan moved unnerved and got up. The squad room was not that full yet and the few cops that were there pretended, quite well, they've heard nothing of their little chat.

The two women went to the back where the questioning rooms were. They stood outside a one-way visible glass. Before anyone appeared inside a middle-aged obese man came to them.

'What you're doing is illegal, Chief. My client will sew your asses off!'

'Will he? In the case of assisting the investigation, voluntarily, he may not.'

The obese man said nothing. The door of the other room opened and a giant red-haired man entered.

Morgan made a step back and quite subconsciously stood closer to Tara.

The uniform in charge ordered the tall man to move, he did nothing. He ordered him to come closer, the man grinned. Next it was Tara's turn. She grabbed the speaker.

'Oh, Ainsley, don't make me come in there, Ainsley!'`

Ainsle Schmidt, a serial rapist and murderer the gang had not been able to catch for months had become Chief Jahn's first case on the new job. The case might have even dropped had it not been for the fact that Detective Janice Morgan, in charge of the investigation from 101st's side, became one of his victims. She had two colleagues with her and a brief hunch made her stray for just a second. They found her an hour later, covered in blood, naked, with one broken arm.

Her tormentor was now before her, again, but completely harmless.

'Show us how you jump in one leg, Ainsley.'

The colossal man started jumping, just barely as he was way too heavy.

Morgan was stunned. She took almost perverse pleasure and watching his humiliation, he was the complete opposite of the terrifying nightmare that had scarred her.

'Look at him well,' whispered Tara. 'He's as docile as a lamb, he can't hurt you.' Morgan nodded. 'He can't hurt anyone.'

'Change legs, Ainsley,' she raised her voice again. The giant obediently did as ordered, the anxiety making him sweat extensively.

'You will pay for this,' hissed the chubby mad on her left side.

'Ainsley, you can stop now.'

The giant stood still.

'Do you know that you're helping us, Ainsley, right now?'

He shook head like a guilty boy.

'Well you are, you are helping, and I'm very grateful to you, Ainsley.' His eyes brightened and he smiled.

'Now, are you happy to help us, Ainsley?'

'Yes, ma'am!'

'Would you do some ballet for us, Ainsley, as part of your help?'

The giant did the best he could, offering a grotesque spectacle of the kind where WWA meets _Swan Lake_. Morgan cupped her mouth, she was shaking with laughter, her eyes were wet. She gave Tara the most gratitude-filled look anyone possibly could.

'That's enough, Ainsley. Thank you very much.'

'My pleasure, ma'am.'

'Now, if we need you again, would you like to help us, in the same way?'

'I'll be happy to, ma'am.'

Victoriously Tara looked at the tiny, oily ball next to her. She needn't say anything.

'Very good, Ainsley! You know I'm your friend, right?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Very good. You may go now.'

The giant turned and was promptly taken to his cell. The fat lawyer disappeared, too.

Still quite stunned, Morgan stood with a silly expression and mouth half-open. Tara took her under the arm and lead her to the exit.

'Now, detective, let me give you your first assignment as a little _welcome_.'

Tara took a rice paper envelope from her back pocket. It looked big and for a moment Morgan wondered where she fit it since the Chief only wore elegant grey pants and a tight l black blouse with high neck.

'A voucher…' Her eyes glittered. ' _The Lotus Garden_?' She gaped in disbelief. 'Chief, that's an expensive spa!'

'Oh, I know. They'll be expecting you around 9, and I believe your assignment should last the whole day.'

'But…'

'That's an order detective.' Morgan was at a loss. 'The trial is next week and I want you in top shape, you know, crimes still happening and such.'

'But why?!'

Tara lead her up the stairs.

'I was going to send you straight home but I wanted you to come down here. Now that the shame of the first day is over you can come back, refreshed and confident.'

They stood at the other end of the squad room. Morgan stared at the tall woman beside here. She looked her with warm, understanding eyes, not a sign of pity.

'You understand how I feel… Don't you?'

Tara pretended she didn't hear.

'Which reminds me, you've got another assignment.'

'I do?'

'Once you're done your.. investigation at The Lotus Garden, you will go to the nearest liquor store and get yourself the expensive champagne you've always wanted but always found something better to spend your money on.'

'Mmmm…'

'Then, unless you have it at home, you'll go and get yourself the book you've had in your mind for a while, but never got the time to read as there's always something more important.'

'Indeed…'

'And finally,' Tara handed her a business card. 'You'll find this chocolatier downtown. They keep a box of chocolates with your name on it, those should go nicely with your drink.'

'Are you serious?'

'Perfectly. Make sure to bring me the receipts tomorrow.' Tara winked at her.

Quite speechless Morgan could not believe.

'Come on, come on, off you go.'

Hastily the detective grabbed her coat and bag and danced towards the exit.

'That's a great thing you did there,' hummed Kermit from behind.

'Nonsense,' smiled Tara and hid in her den.

 **XXXXX**

Harris shut the phone. She was staring blankly at the candy shop across the street.

'What's wrong?' Peter was struggling to figure the sudden change of mood. They were few steps from her car with no intention of getting in.

'Candy.'

'What?'

'Care for some gummies?'

Finally he pulled her and barked one last 'What's going on' in her face.

'They caught the murderer.'

He gaped.

'It was the Captain that called. Some young man from _Astra_. Case – closed.' Harris was staring into the nothing behind Peter as she spoke. After that she blankly headed for the car.

'Coming?'

 **XXXXX**

Most people don't like going back home unless they have made something out of themselves. That problem checked off the list, Special Agent Jordan Maguire had other reasons to postpone her return to China Town. Thus she needed a bit over a year and a half and a coordinated operation to make the final step.

Coming out of the black Mercedes she took a pause to check on the building of her former precinct. How important it looked once, and how small and pathetic it seemed now…

'Coming?'

'After you.'

Special Agent Don Marsters was looking forward to the operation. The fact that he was going to meet in person the infamous Agent Jahn only months after she gave up the realm of Interpol was a joy to be savoured. No, he was not jealous, just twenty-something girls didn't belong at the head of multi-national military activities.

Jordan was mostly oblivious to those feelings. Her problem at the moment was where to look. All eyes were on them as they marched through the reception and entered the squad room.

'Special Agent Marsters,' announced the group leader. Broderick granted him but a glance and disappeared in the stuffy squad room. A minute later he was back, and still numb, opened the door and invited them in.

Jordan bent head and smiled at herself, warmly recollecting all the previous operations that had resulted in the current the cold welcome. She was not deterred, Broderick winked at her as they passed each other, a much needed sign that in 1-0-1 she was still at home.

In the usual snobbish manner of FBI agents, Marsters and his colleagues proceeded, the former seriously annoyed at not being formally welcomed. As he stood for a second to consider, Jordan being a moment too late, he accidentally pushed a blond female detective who ended up with half a coup of coffee on her black suit.

'Watch it!'

'Me watch it? Are you still asleep? Do you know that I can terminate your joke of a career with one phone call? Do…'

'That's enough, Marsters!'

Tara didn't even bother flatter him with the title _Agent_.

The most of Marsters' determination to laugh at Tara's decline evaporated when her chillingly dominant voice echoed through the room.

She stepped closer.

'Welcome to 101st, Agent! Here we all watch our step and treat each other with respect. If you're not ready to offer even this much to my people, your job here is done.'

'I…'

She stepped even closer. Her voice could cut through glass.

'The officers of 101st Precinct are to be shown the same deference and recognition as any agent of the Bureau. In case you intended anything else,' she came close enough for him to realise that either he was too short, or she was too tall, 'I'm sure there are many other precincts that would love to work with you.'

Marsters gulped. He was as reluctant to mess with cops as the cops themselves, but the very thought of standing in front of his superiors over a failed operation made even his pride falter.

Tara's gaze was beginning to turn him into stone. He turned towards Jody.

'I…. owe you….an apology, detective…'

'Po-well,' was the audible answer. Jody was not in a mood, not for the last 2 years at least.

'Powell! We're quite under pressure here…' He quickly checked Tara's severe stance and continued. 'and I reacted in a manner that doesn't do me justice.'

'Damn right you did!' snapped she.

He took a breath.

'I'm sorry…once again. I'm quite looking forward to working with you.'

Jody sneered and hid behind her desk. It's not that she was terribly insulted, but she really didn't have the nerve to face Jordan now. Just… not now that everybody knew, and she was bound to find out, too… one way or another…She glanced at Morgan's new desk.

Tara moved and made a gesture towards Kermit's office. The Captain had been enjoying the show from the door; he was becoming convinced in his choice of new chief by the minute.

It all seemed unreal from Jordan's position. At no point did she remember any of her police superiors treating Federal Agents like this. But then again, she knew of Tara Jahn, and so far, every bit of rumour she'd heard about her was turning out complete truth.

Jordan's peculiar glare didn't escape Chief Jahn's eagle sight. It was the glare that only a woman could grant to another woman. The not-so-invisible head-to-tow look, the comparison, the inevitable jealousy, and then again… the sparkle that only Kelly and Jody had in their eyes – Tara smiled patronisingly and proudly followed the group.

' _The man's got a taste,_ ' she thought while closing the office door behind her.

 **XXXXX**


	3. Soldiers and Detectives

Soldiers and Detectives

The worst part was Harris' expressionless face and its pair of glittering eyes with enlarged pupils and a grain of madness in them.

'Can we talk?'

'We're going to the station.'

'I know…'

'There's a suspect. That's it.'

Joanna…'

Hearing her name caused a reaction. She looked at the mirror, though, not directly at him.

'Feel free to leave tomorrow, P… Mr. Caine. Your help has been much appreciated.'

Peter knew better than going into the deep with a woman whose gaze reminded _The Exorcist_. Even without Shaolin training he could figure something was amiss.

 **XXXXX**

Back at Kermit's office the mood was in harmony with the weather outside – below zero. Kermit nested in his chair, Tara leaned on the desk and the three agents took chairs according to seniority – Marsters at the front, his partner, Scott Langue next, and Jordan quietly took the back seat.

'I see the rumours about you have not been exaggerated, Agent Jahn,' Marsters opened.

'It's _chief_ now,' smiled Tara and gave him a warm look that made him shiver.

'Of course it is…'

'Guys, guys, we've got work to do,' interfered Kermit. 'I received the revised plan only this morning, Agent Marsters.'

Marsters grinned.

'We're quite busy, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.'

Tara opened the city plans she had with her.

'Shame we won't be using your plan, sorry about the wasted time.' She didn't even bother look at him.

'What?' Marsters jumped and Langue and Jordan looked at each other puzzled.

'Don't misunderstand me, Don,'

Tara finally looked at him and decided it was time the cocky Fed was put to his place with a clearer picture of who was in charge here. Evidently it was not him.

'I'm sure your folks have created a great plan, in the typical stuck-in-the-box fashion of FBI. Such a shame we don't work like that here, though, sorry for the wasted time,' purred Tara and started drawing on her plans.

Marsters was raging.

'Who gave you the right to talk… to….'

'Don,' Kermit was barely holding himself, 'calm down.'

'Right.' Tara brought the plans to Kermit's desk. 'You were intending to meet them at the first gate in of the station, right?'

'We still are,' said Langue drily.

'Good for you.'

Tara lifted the full plans, an item completely unknown to the three Feds. As far as they were concerned, Sloanville's abandoned train station, once meant to transport coal to Riverton and the Lake area, was a useless, unfinished construction, nowadays serving as nothing else but junkies hot-spot. The plans they had had been supplied by the Municipality, they were the official ones. The plans Tara had, had been supplied by Raphael Trohijo, the former lead engineer of the project, now enjoying his golden years in a retirement community by the lake Ontario.

Next to Marsters', Tara's preparation was a whole other level.

'Those plans are different,' remarked Jordan. 'Very different.'

'We noticed,' hissed Langue.

'Where did you get those?'

'Where you didn't,' shrugged Tara. 'As you see, there's a blind spot right under the clock. They were working from both sides intending to meet them in the middle, never went this far. It's invisible even if you're there, as I found out myself.'

'You've been there? In plain sight, to be seen by a possible look-out?' Marsters chuckled. 'Not very intelligent… Chief. My men are already in place and…'

'Who, the two morons at the parking and the other five at the depot? If they haven't seen me, I really doubt the traffickers' stooge has made me.'

Marsters gulped. Tara rolled eyes. Kermit's arms were shaking; he gave up a chuckle and wiped his eyes.

'So anyway, the blind spot is a tunnel that leads almost to the river, that's where they'll collect the cargo, weapons wasn't it?'

Nobody answered.

'Weapons it is. All we have to do is cut the way and trap them, it's kids' play.'

'You really believe yourself, don't you?'

Tara shrugged. 'Pretty much.'

'This is ridiculous,' whispered Langue, though loud enough for it to be heard by everyone.

Tara grabbed a chair, turned it the other way and casually sat.

'Don… Let me draw you the bigger picture. I'm acting on a hunch here, hunch.. and, pure, iron logic.'

'Chief,' Marsters leaned closer. 'I don't intend to regroup my people. This is a carefully planned operation.'

'...Which will turn into a carefully planned failure. Besides, your people can stay where they are. _My_ people will take care of the rest.'

He laughed.

'Are you serious?'

'As a heart attack.' She and Kermit looked at each other. 'Look at it that way. If I'm wrong, you get the satisfaction at blaming it on the infamous Tara Jahn who completely failed at following simple instructions.'

Marsters licked lips, he was actually imagining it.

'And if I'm right, you add one more successful mission to your already long résumé. You win in both cases.'

Nobody could argue here. And Marsters would give more than a kingdom to see Tara fail. The agents conferred briefly but nobody disagreed – the presence of a previously unknown tunnel was a huge failure on FBI's side and Tara, whatever the outcome, had saved their butts.

 **XXXXX**

James Jefferson, or JJ as he preferred, had not had time to emerge from the shock. Cradling back and forth on the cell bench, he was preoccupied to rethink his short life, so much so that even the dead rat under the leaking window went unnoticed.

He took the passing of his aunt and the transfer to the orphanage better than most kids. He was 14 then. Mature for his age, it was clear to him that nobody was coming to the rescue. It was also clear that he had two choices – either take to the streets and let others dispose with his life as they pleased, or buckle up, sit tight for a couple of years and make it at least to community college. JJ decided he wasn't going to let anybody use him as a pawn.

Eventually hard work, patience, and countless sleepless nights over the books brought him to _Astra Insurances_ with a paid internship and a subsequent full-time job offer.

JJ looked around him.

...And to this fresh hell.

He spotted the dead rat. He acknowledged its presence with a chuckle.

On the way back form work yesterday (he was let go early due to amassed overtime) he met Tony Bolton, his pal from the orphanage. Tony had been trafficking and dealing heroine and occasionally meth since he was 15, many of his customers living and working at the orphanage. He never bothered finishing school – what's the point when you're making 2 grands a week. Years ago JJ had refused Tony's kind offer to join the business and yesterday he refused Tony's kinder offer to take him home in his new BMW. There was no rush, Tony was passing from there on the way to pick his supermodel-girlfriend and leave on a two-week holiday at the Maldives.

JJ curled on the bench. He, too, could have been lying on a golden beach with a super-model by his side now.

He went to college instead.

 **X**

In a behaviour unknown to his previous self, Peter decided to let questions answer themselves. Obediently he followed Harris through the squad room; Captain Higgins met them at the stairs on the way to the cells.

'Cell 2,' he said with a peacockish air, casually leaning on the frame, arms crossed, wearing a not-so-subtle content grin.

'When did they bring him in?'

'Shortly after 9.' Higgins turned and headed for his office. 'I'm expecting your full report with the complete research by noon tomorrow.' He didn't bother look at her; she was halfway down the stairs by the time he finished his sentence.

Peter didn't make as much as a stir during that time. He only listened and followed.

Downstairs they arrived to a uniform leaving with a tray and a bowl with some soup in it; the tray contained the rest of the liquid.

'Stay hungry then,' he shouted, then negligently greeted the pair and mumbled an audible 'Asshole'.

'Did the suspect do that?' enquired Harris.

'You bet he did. His Majesty frowns at tomato soup. ...Get used to it, sucker!' shouted the uniform while trying to wipe the smell of tomato off himself.

Peter took a deep breath and covered his mouth.

'What's with you?'

'I hate tomato soup!'

Harris puffed and headed for the cell.

'James Jefferson?'

JJ came closer. His tie was rimming his head.

'Is it too late to say _no_?'

'I'm afraid so. Just as it's too late to plead _insane_.'

JJ shrugged and returned to his bench. Harris took some notes and headed for the exit.

'Wow, wow…' Peter was now seriously struggling to grasp what sort of rabbit hole he'd fallen into.

'That's it?!'

Harris looked around and nodded.

'Yeah.'

' _That_ was your interrogation?'

'Yes!' she glared and demonstratively turned and headed for the exit.

'You've got 5 minutes.'

Peter approached the cell; he didn't say anything, just stared.

'Wha' ?' came a hoarse voice from inside.

A pause. It lasted long enough for the uniform to come over. Peter waved at him to stay put, his eyes never left the cell's contents.

'Would you come closer?'

JJ got up and came _really_ close.

'When did they arrest you?'

'T'day.' JJ chuckled.

'I mean what time?' Peter's face was pure stone.

'9:15, I hadn't finished my coffee yet. Didn't even try the doughnut.'

JJ's morning routine was a ten-minute ritual of a double espresso and a glazed Krispy Kreme.

'You start at 9, yes?'

'...Yes….'

'How long were you on the job?'

JJ found no use in being polite any more. Towards anyone. Ever again.

' 't was gonna be a yea' next month. Anything else, nerd?'

'I…'

Harris' heels came down tic-tocking.

'Time's up, come 'ere.'

'In a minute.'

Harris was mad.

'Case is closed, Caine…'

'Caine?…' JJ's lips were moving silently.

'...You are coming upstairs _now_!'

'In. A. Minute!' Peter nearly roared. The uniform froze, JJ made a step back and Harris gaped.

The woman said nothing, there was no point. She simply bit lips and disappeared in the squad room.

Peter's eyes fixated again on the man behind bars.

'Now, you listen to me, I know you didn't do it.'

JJ was about to speak when a hand reached through the bars and cupped his mouth.

'Do you have a family?'

'No.'

'Girlfriend?'

'No.'

'No relatives?'

'My aunt died when I was 14. I spent the next 4 years at _Pineridge_ , it's in Sloan…'

'I know.' The hand reached for the ruined tie and handed it to its ever more confused owner.

'Now you will sit tight and behave yourself… unless you want more tomato soup.'

'The orphanage fed me enough of that for a lifetime.'

Peter made a half-smile and the two men's eyes exchanged a glance that transcended prison and their brief acquaintance.

'...And I'll make sure you're out by the end of the week.'

'But…'

Peter stretched hand.

'Just behave yourself, OK?'

Tentatively JJ shook the offered hand.

'OK.' The prisoner's quite voice sent Peter out.

Was it possible? Caine?… The guy already stood out from the other cops. The orphan didn't succumb to the grain of hope that had sprouted at the back of his head, he returned to his bench and curled up.

 **XXXXX**

The group was significantly quieter when they left Kermit's office. The squad room was the usual buzz, someone had even turned the radio on. The Feds frowned and Tara sought the culprit, also known as Morris.

'It brightens the mood, doesn't it,' said he dancing around the desks with a refilled cup of coffee.

The radio was playing Latino tunes.

'I heard they're coming to Sloanville,' said Jody while tapping fingers on her desk.

'Who's they?' casually asked Tara, revising a ridiculously detailed map of the city together with Blake and Mary Margaret.

'Los Mafiosos, of course,' smiled Mary Margaret.

'Mm, I don't think…'

In that moment the radio DJ's chirping voice announced his next guests.

 _'Yes, and yes again, they_ _ **are**_ _here! You broke the lines, so we listened! For the first time in America, the toughest mariachis, the men who played for the Mexican Godfather Thomas Ketonna the RIP,_ _ **and survived**_ _!, Los… Mafiosos!_

 _'Ola!…'_

 _'Ola, gringos! Now, to set the mood, let's hear again your big hit, 'Por Amor' – 'For Luuuv'. Yeah!'_

The contagious energy of the melody spread around quickly, only Tara didn't seem to be affected.

'Show me the plans again…' asked Blake while his legs took a life of their own and started moving with the catchy melody.

'They're...there…', choked Tara and hurried back to Kermit's office; he was following every move she made.

Kermit stayed and listened, curiosity took the better of him.

After a while the radio DJ was back.

 _'So, tell us about the song, guys.'_

 _'It's a… a powerful song,' answered one of the band with heavy accent._

 _'Yes, yes, people dance, people like… Lovers like, they dance' added a second man._

 _'Oh, were there couples down there in Ketonna's house?'_

 _'Yes, yes, and they loooved our music!'_

 _'So…'_

Kermit didn't hear the rest. He had to follow his new Chief, not entirely sure what to expect.

Inside the office Tara was close to getting palpitations, she was breathing heavy. She didn't care to turn when Kermit entered, her mind, just like Blake's legs earlier, had taken life of its own. The rushing images of her and Peter dancing this very same song was the cruel reminding that despite all, family ties and everything, she missed so much it hurt. She remembered his voice, his eyes, his strong arms holding her like nobody ever did before… In her memory those precious 4 or 5 minutes were the happiest, most perfect moment of her life. She chuckled and wiped her eyes but was still struggling with the weight in her chest.

For a few seconds Kermit didn't dare say anything.

'I… I take it… it wasn't all bad down there?…'

'Sure, it was hunky-dory.'

He closed the door and made a step.

'Was it… was there a party or something?….'

'There was a fiesta before the finals.'

'The finals that never happened…'

'Quite.' She looked at Kermit. Her reddened eyes wouldn't have impressed him but the gravely-pale skin made them stand out.

'Uhm….'

'And you know what?' Her voice as dry. 'That night, that… one dance was… the single best moment of my pointless existence.'

'Tara…'

'A five-minute dance, with a stranger, in the house of a mob godfather.'

Gently Kermit patted her arm.

'How sad is that?'

'These things are not in our hands.' He leaned on the desk next to her. 'The important thing is to remember that there are many perfect moments ahead for you…'

She grunted and prepared to leave.

'Come on…'

'It's not the time.'

'Won't you at least tell me what the freaking problem is?'

'He is Caine and my... f-family has made the Caines suffer a lot.'

'Family, ah, that little thing.'

'Yeah.'

'Are you Tan's daughter?'

'Who?'

'No, thank God, no. Who else – Bon Bon Hai?'

'Lord no!' She made a face of disgust.

'Then what's wrong with your family?'

'Lee Sung, Kermit, _that_ 's what's wrong.'

 **XXXXX**

In the squad room Harris was frantically collecting papers in an already overloaded folder.

'I didn't know you were still here, Mr Caine.'

Peter didn't have a chance to reply as Higgins crept from behind and Harris replied for him.

'Mr Caine is about to go to the hotel and collect his stuff, Captain.'

'Is he?' Higgins examined the former cop. 'Very well.'

Peter felt like a marionette.

'Come on, Caine.'

'But…'

'In my car I said!'

Together with the local precinct's unabashed violation of the entire police protocol, Peter was failing to fathom the sudden change of heart with Detective Harris. He had not entirely lost interest in her but her openly flirtatious behaviour had turned 180o to become cold, formal, and even bossy. Frankly, he didn't think she had it in her.

Busy analysing, Peter stopped to sign out. Then he stopped altogether and listened.

'Coming?'

He made her sign not to talk. The radio. The music – it took hold of him, it was alive. He stared at a dot somewhere in front and started moving back and forth, than a turn, than back and forth again.

'Do you know the music?' asked the sergeant at reception.

'No idea…' answered the priest with his eyes closed. 'But I love it.'

Harris came closer.

'He couldn't know it, it's those Mexican mariachis, right?'

'Yeah, the song is premiering in the US only now. Ever been to Mexico, gringo?'

'Nope,' was the automatic reply. His eyes were still closed, he was smiling blissfully. The two cops looked at each other. Harris shrugged and headed for the door.

'Tell him I'll be in the car.'

Right at the exit she turned again and she could swear Peter looked like he was holding an invisible partner. She didn't even realize her tightened fist.

 **X**

Finally out of the station and in Harris' car, Peter felt in the mood to try again.

'Funny as it was, I'm beginning to enjoy this whole charade less and less.'

Harris looked in the mirror.

'Sorry to hear that. 'Cus I had a blast.'

'So… I'm not getting any explanation, nothing?'

'Cops don't explain themselves to civilians.'

Suddenly she made a sharp right turn, then left, and then left again. They were back on the main street but in the other lane.

'You were running from the blue Ford?'

'What blue Ford?'

She took another small street and stopped.

'Get out, quick.'

Peter obeyed.

'Your hotel is a block behind, take the street to the right. Now give me your key.'

Too experienced to waste time in questions, he obeyed again.

'Go to reception, ask for the 2nd key and casually go to your room.'

Harris closed her window and disappeared off sight before Peter could react at all. He did as ordered. Ten minutes later he was back to his room.

Harris was waiting for him. Her coat was thrown on the armchair, the top of her shirt was unbuttoned. Peter didn't say anything. He looked at her, she was sitting on the bed, face hidden behind her hands. The contents of the thick folder she had collected earlier were lying scattered around.

Peter took a chair and sat opposite her. And waited.

Eventually Harris revealed her reddened face, her features now softer, her a mix of worry and guilt.

'I graduated from the Academy in the top 5 my class. I was immediately assigned to a big precincts in New York City. _You're a rising star_ , they said. _FBI or bust_ , they said. So I dreamt big. I wanted to pass the detective test at once, but my captain, Richard Goddard, advised against that. _Know the streets first, know the people, know yourself_ , that's what he said.'

'Very wise.'

'It was. And I waited. I did learn a lot in the meantime, and as of the 6 that hurried to pass the test , one is still alive. In a wheelchair.'

Peter frowned.

'Anyway. I barely had time to crack my first case as a detective and Goddard got a transfer here. He asked us to join him, me and Weaver.'

'Aha…'

'Yeas, that's how we met. So, at that point I was ready to follow my captain to Hell.'

'I know the feeling,' smiled he.

'I thought he just wanted some quiet time before retirement. Turned out, they call Riverton The Last Frontier Before North.'

'I've heard.'

'All East Coast traffic channels pass from here before they reach Sloanville, Canada, and the across the Pond. The forests and the lakes make it a perfect shortcut. I never thought such a little town can have so much goin on. You name it – drugs, weapons, fur… And I'm pretty sure I must have piled more mileage than any detective in the area.'

'I'm not sure about that.'

'Oh, hush.' She finally smiled.

'Go on.'

'Right.' She gulped. 'January last year we got a signal about a major weapon shipment. We did as we knew. Then on a February morning, we hadn't finished our doughnuts yet, a SWAT team invaded the station and took Goddard. Later we were told they'd discovered an entire shipment of unmarked shotguns hidden in his basement, along with a bank account in the Caymans.'

'I suppose he was never interrogated?'

'He was tried and sentenced in 48 hours.'

'Man, that's some fast justice.' Peter got up.

'The same, the very same day Captain Higgins took charge.'

Peter sat next to her.

'Really…'

'By personal recommendation of the new mayor.'

'How new?'

'She took over in January.'

For a second Peter stared at the wall. And then it clicked. He started leafing through the disorderly file.

'Do we have the info on Franklin and _Astra_?'

'Yes, the plastic pocket at the bottom.'

'And… how many times…has your station had such quick-sentence cases? ...There it is!'

Harris blushed – this Caine guy was too good.

'Four times, counting this one.'

'Those cases' files should be checked, too…' said Peter absently, having found the paper he needed.

'It can be arranged…'

'A-ha!'

'What?'

'Our new friend Franklin has taken over _Astra_ last year… in February.'

'I see.' She didn't.

'And the cold-blooded killer that is James Jefferson, was an intern and then officially an employee at _Astra_ – since March last year.'

Harris preferred not to answer – she hated making herself look stupid.

'I mean… Had you taken at least 5 minutes to interrogate him, you'd know he's an orphan.'

She avoided his look.

'He's got no-bo-dy in this world…'

'OK, I get it, he's the perfect scapegoat!'

All this time Detective Joanna Harris had been waiting for the right moment, or person, to help her solve the case that had chained her to Riverton, and hopefully clear Goddard. But in her dedication she never looked further than the precinct, thus leaving an ex-cop make more progress in 10 minutes than she'd made in 10 months.

Annoyed and angry, she grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, then opened a can of Coke from the mini-bar. The local channel was on default; it was broadcasting the official opening of the new mall, personal venture of Mayor Blake.

'Yuck,' mumbled Harris and reached for the remote.

And then a hand grabbed hers, out of nowhere.

'What?'

A pair of double-sized hazel eyes were glued to the screen.

' _This_ is your mayor?'

'Yes, that's Mayor Blake. Why?'

'Didn't even bother to come up with a new name, did we? This is some nerve!' he hissed and looked back at Harris. 'That was easy.'

It was Harris' turn to be the passive witness. She saw Peter get up, grab a peace of paper with the hotel logo on it and a random pen; he started dividing the paper in 4 squares. In the top left he wrote _M. Blake_ , next to it – _G. Franklin._ Below he wrote _Cpt. Higgins_ on one and _James Jefferson & Cpt Goddard _in the other square. In the middle he drew a square that took parts from the other four – with a large question mark in it.

'All we need is to find a name… or an event or anything at all that fits in the intersection.'

'What do you mean?' She looked closer. 'And how do you know the mayor's initials?

Peter stabbed and dragged fingers through the nearby folder, wrinkled pieces of paper came from beneath his nails.

'We go way back.'

 **X**

Greg Franklin shut the phone.

'Well, that's case officially closed. Caine is already on his way and tomorrow little James Jefferson will follow. ...What's now?'

Five fingers with exquisite manicure were tapping on the desk.

'That was easy, _way_ too easy.'

'You complain when it's difficult, you complain when it's not… What do you want?'

'I'm finding it hard to believe Peter Caine would leave just like that.'

'He is though.'

'Can Higgins be trusted?'

Both of Franklin's hands landed threateningly on the desk.

'At this point how can you doubt? After everything?'

'He's a crook, Greg, just like you and I. Crooks can't be trusted.'

The man grinned.

'Sure they can. When their saviour can become their executioner with one phone call – they can.'

Blake licked lips and got up.

'The opening went well. Make sure you're a frequent visitor at my new mall.'

' _Our_ new mall, honey.'

'Don't…'

A hand pulled her abruptly and painfully.

'Saviour and executioner, Marilyn, it's two sides of the same coin. Don't you forget that!'

She pulled away.

'Tonight at 7…'

'Make it 8. My place.'

 **X**

'I don't know, Peter…'

'What's the problem, you said you talk frequently.'

'Goddard is very cautious. With everything that happened… and his past… He talks to me and James only.'

'Are you sure?'

'I…'

Peter didn't wait for the reply; he was thinking.

'Past, you said… Do you know details?'

'A little. It's really nothing I can talk of openly.'

That was enough for him; Peter grabbed his phone and frantically selected a number set on speed dial then went to his new bedroom.

 _'Hello, darling, miss me already? Mel is meeting a candidate family tomorrow.'_

'She's not going anywhere without my approval. And hello to you, too.'

 _'Well, you're not here, there's that.'_

'Look, Kermi, I'm calling about something else.'

 _'I'm listening.'_

'Just one thing – the mercenary world is apparently a small place. If so… do you happen to know a… colleague thaw goes with the name John Goddard?'

Silence.

 _'I might…'_

'Thanks.'

As he shut Peter perceived the image of a massive bald man and the name Moses Flint. It hit him like a slap, he had to sit. He saw an air plane, he saw jungle. Then motorbikes.

'Peter?' A voice from the living room drew him out of the vision. Harris found him sitting still, staring at nowhere.

'Are you having a stroke?'

'Ehm…' He was seeing himself in the local police station, Melanie Winch was beside him; he had just promised to take her if nobody else did. 'Were you there when I brought a little girl to your station?'

'Not the whole time, I had to deal with formalities. Why?'

'I think… I think I've promised to take her if we found no foster home…'

'That's very noble. Is that what you called for?'

'N-no.' He finally came to his senses. 'Just do me that favour – tell Goddard that the son of Paul Blaisdell wants to talk to him.'

'Paul Blaisdell… Will do.' She disappeared.

Peter used the chance and sat on the old single bed. He thought of Mel and realised that quite a few memories had come back to him already – he just needed to try and order them if he were to be of any use to Harris and JJ.

At least Mel was safe and sound in Sloanville. Even more fortunately it was Cheryl that came to pick her up and not Kermit. She only told him that Kermit had found the ideal foster home, in the ideal neighbourhood, wherever that was. Though she sensed that something was not entirely well with him, he managed to earn some more time and convince her he'd be home in 2 days tops. And considering his latest discoveries, he might have told the truth after all.

 **XXXXX**

The place was not too dark as the municipality wanted to pretend as much as possible that they had provided security and were generally taking care of it.

There was no security.

'You won't position yourself with your people, Marsters?'

'I thought I wanted to see with my own eyes how you work under pressure, Chief Jahn.'

The two didn't look at each other, they were both quite busy checking their weapons. Meanwhile the rest of the mission leaders arrived, Kermit bringing unexpected company.

'Chief Strenlich!' Jordan was pleasantly surprised.

'Agent Maguire,' was the sombre reply. Strenlich had requested to be part of the operation as soon as he learned about it. His little sabbatical was not going to stop him from completing the project he himself started. Truth was – he was not happy with others, even someone as gorgeous as Tara, take credit for his work.

Strenlich took a grainy image out of his inner pocket.

'Assim Kommar, he's supposed to be one of the gang leaders. We've… known each other since my days with the marines. I don't expect any reward for being here – just give me Kommar.'

Tara nodded and went to make a final check of her people. Kermit examined Frank's face, looking for something to hint, even a little, what the hell was going on. He saw nothing.

Behind him, to his best abilities, Marsters was trying to give himself an air of operation leader. He positioned his people, Jordan and Langue were going on an elevated old platform, himself and Strenlich would stand on the mezzanine, even higher; Marsters didn't like to see his hands get dirty. Opposite was another platform, iron one, where Mary Margaret and Morris were settled, each responsible for a different square of the room.

Tara was about to find herself a spot when Marsters _had_ to offer another opinion.

'You do realize we're here nearly 2 hours too early, right?'

'Are we?' She was checking a temptingly looking giant cistern with half a ladder, nearly 2 metres off the ground.

'I have a hunch.'

'Having a hunch doesn't suit someone with your reputation.'

She giggled. 'OK, I have a theory. Better?'

'I won't be responsible for any of my people ending up with a hypothermia.'

Kermit finally appeared.

'OK, blame it one me,' she added randomly. 'Captain, could you give me a lift?'

Before he even knew what was happening, Tara leaned on his shoulder, stepped on his hip and jumped onto the ladder. Completely untouched by the sudden silence in the dusty tunnel, she climbed on top of the cistern and a minute later the thin rope she always had with her found one of its ends at Kermit's feet.

'Coming?'

It was Tara's iron rule that on assignments she'd either let someone she trusted implicitly cover her back, or she'd be alone. The past 8 months had made Kermit on of the very few people, _ever_ , to qualify for the task.

'You're a pest, you know that?' puffed Kermit as he was collecting the rope behind him.

'A bit rusty, aren't we?'

'Winter is slow here,' said he coldly and checked his Desert Eagle.

'Whatever you say,' said she impressed and leaned to check the black beauty in her captain's hands.

'Want one?'

'Nah, I'm not into weapons,' she said quietly and coughed.

Kermit knew well Ketonna's tournament had a shooting round, but he was still not entirely aware of his new Chief's misgivings regarding the exercise.

'Oh, right, you're into cooking…' teased Kermit.

'But of course. I make the best sizzling duck on this side of the Pond.'

Tara took her radio.

'All teams – set and ready?' She listened the reports.

'You should give me the recipe,' winked Kermit.

Less than a minute later the 101 team at the back of the tunnel reported five figures coming out of a rusty, silver-brown van.

'Sure.' She shrugged. 'OK, you know what to do, wait to see the merchandise.' She tuned it off. 'And by the way, I'm not much of a shooter.'

'Come again?'

Marsters had ordered his team to act as planned, 1-0-1's role was merely the back-up.

Gunfire echoed from the other gallery.

'Stay put, children,' ordered Tara to her team. Loud steps were running, coming closer. 'They missed them,' she told Kermit, but mostly she was remarking on the idiocy that seemed to be so common with certain crime-prevention organizations.

She had warned Marsters that the main dealers would be backed up. Langue insisted it was going to be not more than 4-5 people on each side. All they were supposed to do was exchange several millions for several crates of weaponry of unknown kind. Tara expected more people, personal guards of the dealers who'd have the money; she was certain when scared off, their guards would take the fall so the 5 leaders could sneak through the tunnel.

She was right.

None of the three FBI agents had joined their team in the shoot out. But Marsters decided it was time _just_ as the sound of running steps was approaching.

'Teams 4 and 5, start closing, do _not_ fire!...The rest stay put!' hissed in the end Tara. In vain. While Mary Margaret and Morris obeyed, Langue and Jordan decided to listen to Marsters and left their hideout. They were about to head for the main hall when right by the exit the dealers appeared.

Tara had chosen their hideout deliberately as to close the intended circle around the traffickers. FBI decided they had to start the fire before the deal was almost completed. This is where Marsters abandoned his judgement of a professional - apparently he would much rather send the mission to hell than allow former Agent Jahn be right.

Now two of his agents were about to pay with their lives because of that. Between them the 5 men had more weapons than the hiding remaining agents and the cops; Scalany and Morris were not even in range. Morris was ready to run but he was not faster than a bullet. The criminals also intended to run, unaware of the trap that awaited them, but taking two Feds was an opportunity not to be missed.

In the face of the looming disaster, Tara didn't even give it a second thought. As a quite annoyed Kermit was trying to communicate with Marsters, Tara was leaning on the edge.

'What the…'

She didn't have time to answer. The group of five was right under the cistern. She jumped.

 **X**

Later both Marsters and Strenlich would rave how Tara's thoughtlessness had prevented them from taking the suspects. None of them would voluntarily admit they owed the capture of 5 convicted criminals, five heavy, strong men, to one woman.

Perfectly aware of both the advantages and disadvantages of female physique, Tara's fighting was usually minimal and adhering to the rule of "less is more".

With 5 armed men so close to one another she had to aim for maximum damage in minimum time. At the brief afterwards both Strenlich and agent Marsters had to note it took them longer to climb down from their hideout than it took Tara to thrash a group of five.

She jumped.

 **XXXXX**

As far as Captain Higgins was concerned, Peter Caine did leave Riverton, he personally checked the hotel. As far as truth was concerned, Peter had moved at Harris' place. Only Detective James Weaver knew of it and he took it about as warm as the Falcons took the loss from the Broncos. At present he was pacing around his ex's living room.

'Here's your tea.'

'What were you thinking getting him involved?'

'Sugar?'

He didn't answer and as a result his tea got two times more sugar than he'd wished for. He drank.

'Any better ideas?'

'We could have done it on our own,' roared he in a low voice.

'….Because we did so much already…' She raised voice but quickly checked herself. 'Now keep quiet.'

'Goddard will never speak to him.'

'Goddard already agreed.'

'?!'

'They're on the phone right now.'

 **X**

It had never been completely clear to him how convicted low-enforcement officers managed behind bars, and yet Peter spent more time wondering how none of his connections had been sufficient to get him out of there.

The phone rang.

At least he never wondered how a prisoner could have a phone – luckily corruption in prisons goes well beyond that.

'Good evening!'

'She said a man wanted to speak to me,' called a voice from the other side; it sounded like its owner was on a cough-syrup treatment that was not working.

'I only have a few questions.'

'She said you're the son of one of the Apostles.'

Peter's memory was racing. Apostles… Paul… Apostles…

'I am,' he answered, mentally thanking his good judgement to refresh his Holy Books knowledge when he took to the priesthood.

'Nice. Are you calling from Hell, are have you risen?'

Peter shook head – so many were the things he wanted to remember, and so many were those we wished he couldn't.

'Many lose sons, but some get to call the sons of others their own. Isn't life but a miracle?'

He grinned at himself, he was already a veteran at inspirational mumbo-jumbo.

'And did you get to know him well?'

'Quite so,' lied Peter.

'Good. He really liked Sesame Street, I remember, he was watching it with the girls.'

'He still is, actually, we both are. And our favourite muppet is still Kermit the Frog. Aren't he and Miss Piggy adorable?'

There was a pause; Peter didn't breathe out, trying to figure if Goddard was still on the phone.

'How can I help?'

It occurred to him to say that maybe he could help, but he decided ice was too thin anyway to push his luck any further.

'Before they came for you, you'd discovered something…'

The voice on the other side sighed.

'It started as a classic trafficking case, only it turned out some of my old acquaintances were behind it. I mean people who supposedly should have gotten the chair only months ago.'

'I see. What's Greg Franklin got to do with all this?'

'He's a former lawyer. Not a good one, so he needed a new part-time job to make him better buck.'

'Has he ever worked in Sloanville as a lawyer?'

'Yes, a mob lawyer. He left after a big case in 93rd.'

Peter made a mental note.

'Do you have any idea how they set you up, Captain?'

Goddard appreciated that Peter called him _Captain_.

'My theory is somebody out there got caught for evading tax and their accounts suddenly got my name on them, most likely with Franklin's help.'

'Where do you suggest I should start first?'

'My home, definitely! A week before they arrested me I got a weird problem with the pipes. Only now do I realise my mistake. The place should be still behind the yellow tape, as far as I know. You should go there first.'

'Anything else I should know that may help?'

'If I'm right there should be a big shipment to or from Sloanville these days. Keep an eye on my place and look for silver-brown vans.'

'Did you say silver-brown?'

'That's their signature colour.'

'OK. ...And one last thing before I go – do the names Weiss and Hansen ring a bell?'

'I can't tell about Hansen, but as far as I know Weiss is the surname of the new mayor's sister.'

'Oh, boy…'

'Yes?'

'That… That's all. I really appreciate your time, Captain.'

'Don't mention it. Ehm, one more thing though…'

'What?'

'Take care of my people, young man. They're wasting their lives in this God-forsaken shithole for me alone.

'I'll make sure they don't get hurt,' said he softly.

The connection broke.

Without a warning Peter entered the kitchen and stumbled upon Harris and Weaver staring at each other intently, nobody was talking.

'Sorry to interrupt…'

'We just finished,' said Joanna.

'Anything else?' asked Weaver with even colder voice.

'Actually, yes,' interfered Peter. Two pairs of eyes measure him inquisitively. 'Can you, guys, check again one of your victims, Mrs Hansen?'

'What do you need?'

'Her family tree.'

'She's got no relatives, we've checked that,' asserted Harris.

'What about Weiss?'

'Nor does she…' Harris didn't sound so sure this time.

'Guys, guys, take it easy.' Weaver turned out better prepared than Peter gave him credit. 'Higgins wants the completed file only tomorrow, we've got plenty of time.'

The massive folder from earlier was in his satchel. Amongst other things it contained detailed information on the two murder victims that started the whole thing. Peter had printed civil status documents and everything he could get his hands on, he just never came around to reading them; nobody did, as a matter of fact.

'Let us see what you got for us, Mr Caine…'

'Can't believe you _actually_ have all of this stuff here!'

'Thank Higgins and his obsession to conceal evidence,' added Harris and stretched for the scotch bottle. 'Don't mean to look unprofessional, but something stronger is in order.'

Weaver opened the folder and found the small compartment on the two murder victims.

'Jane Hansen… Married Lloyd Hansen in '57, widowed '97…'

Weaver was a slow reader and Peter was a Shaolin with amnesia. Nervously the ex-cop pulled another paper from beneath the one Weaver was still mumbling.

'Here – Jane Hansen, née Franklin.'

'So?'

Everything was adding up.

'Where's Weiss'? ….Aha! Married Alan Weiss… bla-bla…no children... He died in '97, too, in a car crash… and was owner of _AW Constructions_ , look at that.' He grinned. 'There we go – Trisha Weiss, née Blake.'

'So?!' Weaver's tone was getting annoyed but Harris' seemed to work better with alcohol as a boost.

'Blake and Franklin? Let me see that…'

'If you happen to have estranged relatives..' Peter was thinking aloud. '...who also happen to have juicy insurance policies…' He sipped from Joanna's glass. 'There's always a way.'

Harris reclaimed her glass and finished it.

'Imagine you're making uncomfortable amount of cash from trafficking…'

'...You'll need even more cash so you can get yourself involved into something legal and respectful…'

'Like a mall?' Sleepy Weaver had finally put the thinking caps on. At vain – he still felt useless. He had to watch Peter and his former lover share the same glass and cheer on the new discovery.

'I should better go.'

'Hold on, Weaver…' Peter, on the other hand, felt guilty. 'We need some plan for tomorrow. Please…'

He was beginning to resemble a baby sitter stuck with two squabbling children.

'Can you, guys, work together… for a while…?'

They were pouting

'For Goddard?'

'I guess…'

Weaver grabbed the bottle with scotch and added a worrying amount of it to his lukewarm tea.

'Let's get this over with.'

 **XXXXX**

The jump was meant to knock the lankiest of them out. While landing, Tara took another one, stumping her hand on the back of his head.

That was 2 down in a bit under 5 seconds.

The man to her left was the closest, she slapped him with the back of her hand cracking both of his lips. She couldn't do much because a muscular arm sucked onto her neck from behind. Not succumbing to panic she used the arm as a lever, lifted both legs and with her weight transferred to the upper body she spun, landing a second later behind her attacker. Her 4 fingers, straighter than a plank, found his kidney and he groaned. She used him as a human shield against the 5th attacker coming from her right. Her arm wrapped a bit tighter around the heavy man's neck and a loud crack indicated he was no longer conscious. While falling she collected his short rifle, bent with him and got up sharply to the left where the rogue she had slapped was preparing to shoot her. She slapped and punched him, put a leg under him and defying all logic, using the arm that was holding the rifle she threw him on top of the others, the criminal making a full salto with his body before landing heavily on his back. Not having any intention to shoot, she used a spin kick to come closer to the last attacker, blood and teeth shooting from his mouth as her foot reached it. He didn't give up though, so she used the thinner part of the rifle to hit his jaw from bellow, then the thicker part to hit the neck. She landed in a beautiful, long stance, remaining frozen for a second, just enough to make sure that none of her victims was moving.

The 5th attacker slowly losing conscience, she quickly helped him fall on top of his mates, thus forming a peculiar and slightly amusing pile of human scum with arms and legs sticking out of it.

The whole thing took 2 minutes, maybe 3.

The rest of her crew were all there, staring, some of them gaping. Strenlich had to look several times first at the pile, then at Tara, than back, just to comprehend what he had seen. The new Chief saw him and remembered. With her leg she stirred the pile and recognised her pre-last victim.

'Chief Strenlich, I believe this one's yours.' She was not even panting.

Strenlich saw the man he needed and said nothing further, his was a whole other investigation, a private one.

Marsters was about to say something but Tara was way too impatient to get out of the dreaded fed clothes lest someone mistook her for one of them. She welcomed the FBI agent by handing him the short rifle, right against the chest.

'Agent Marsters, congratulations for yet another successful operation.' She blew an annoying flock of hair that had managed to escape her 'fighting hairstyle' as she called it, then patronisingly tapped his arm.

Marsters said nothing.

Kermit appeared from behind, still not completely convinced there was nobody else left to shoot. The place was swarming with cops and Feds and though really fond of making a mess, Griffin dearly hated cleaning it. Of the whole company he was the only one who didn't look like he had just seen a ghost. In fact, he was sporting the biggest and oiliest grin he was capable of.

'That's my gal,' he said proudly with a hand casually in the pocket, the other leaning the shining Desert Eagle on his shoulder.

'Now, the secret to a perfect duck, is how you prepare your bird beforehand…'

'Can't wait to try,' replied the ex-mercenary while carefully collecting his weapon. 'What was that thing about you and weapons again?'

'Care for a drink?'

'Oh, yeah.' The two now good friends casually hugged and headed for the exit, Tara politely nodding at the numb Jordan and Langue; Kermit made a sign to Morris and Scalany that they'll be waiting them at _Chandler's_.

 **XXXXX**


	4. Little Winter Moments

Little Winter Moments

'Here's to us!' With a content grin Franklin drank from the 300$ champagne.

'Isn't it too early to be taking out of the good stuff?'

'Relax…' He poured a second glass and approached her. 'You've never looked prettier, you know.'

'I know.' She pushed him playfully until he found the couch and relaxed in it, while his foggy eyes carefully watched her unbutton her silk shirt.

'It's been too long.' He wiped mouth wit the back of his hand. 'Way too long…'

Blake leaned over her companion. He was too busy with the ample cleavage to notice a moving shadow behind him. A second later there was a burning sensation round his neck but he didn't manage anything else but cough two times before the sharp pain overcame him.

It took nearly a minute.

'You're late!' hissed Blake and instead of buttoning her shirt she checked Franklin's pulse.

'You doubt my skill?'

'I doubt everything,' said she and took a new glass. 'Cheers.'

'Cheers,' replied Higgins and downed his drink. Then he pulled Blake really close and bent, licking his way up from her bra to her neck.

'Wait, wait…'

'What else do you want?' He smashed the glass and started undoing his tie. Then he took his belt off.

'I don't think it's good enough.'

'And I think you're being paranoid.'

'This is not how I planned it.'

'I know.' He looked at Franklin's still-warm body. 'The worm wasn't supposed to die at least until Spring.'

'He started forgetting himself.'

'Well, now he _is_ forgotten…' Higgins made another attempt at her neck.

'What about Caine?' She pulled again.

'Caine has left the building.'

'Sure?'

'Yes, for Goodness' sake! Today Harris escorted him to the hotel, he's checked out in the early afternoon.'

She examined him suspiciously.

'So _all_ you're sure of is that he's left the hotel. Has he left the town?'

Higgins sighed. 'I'll check her place tomorrow, how's that?'

'What if he's there?'

'We'll speed up her expiration date, too, what's the big deal, Jeez!'

'...and his!'

'And his, sure.' He bit her ear. 'What's the deal with this guy?' He bit the other ear. 'How can a former cop scare you so much?'

She pulled again.

'What did you say?'

'OK, sorry, I didn't mean that he scares you, nobody can scare you..'

'No, no, the other thing.'

'Former cop?' He tried a third time. 'I'm getting a bit jealous…'

'Are you sure he's not a cop anymore? What is her doing here then?'

'Yes, I'm sure and he came to collect some street rascal.'

'And… and was he alone?!'

'What do you mean? Harris was with..'

'No, no, I mean in town, was he alone when he arrived in town?'

'Yes!'

She blinked.

'There was no other man with him? Older man, long, silver hair…'

'No.'

'Not even in the hospital?'

'No! What's going on?'

She considered.

'And you mean to tell me that your thugs who you even dared call _deadly_ were… beaten by him alone?!'

'And Harris…'

'Never mind her…' She paced around. 'Listen, Phil, there's _no_ way he has left Riverton. You hear me? No way!'

 **XXXXX**

She'd been on the job for a week, yet Chief of Detectives Tara Jahn saw her colleagues' hangout only now. It took her a while to leave the office, partly because there was a queue for the showers, partly because of a letter that waited for her in her office. Reading it was a tough business, as was usually the case with long-haul news that come from the home one has not seen in nearly a decade, so for once she decided to indulge in the simple joys her cops indulged in so often – an evening at Chandler's.

Tara was in one of those moods when one wants to be alone but _not_ alone. So she tried hard to be courteous and even forced a smile or two; well, a corner of her mouth crooked a bit as she nodded to the cops that acknowledged her presence.

'Congratulations, Leutenant,' came a voice from the left. Tara smiled politely, recognising Strenlich.

'Chief Strenlich, I hope you're satisfied with the outcome.'

'Couldn't be better,' almost sang the former marine and sipped beer, oblivious to his girlfriend's mean looks.

'Is it your first time in our club, Chief,' she asked. There was something in the way she pronounced 'our'.

'Yes, actually it is. I'm very busy.' Tara was already scanning for a free seat by the bar.

'So you won't be staying long tonight?' came Kelly's hopeful remark. Frank stared at her.

'Not at all, Det. Blake,' said Tara, having just spotted her prospective seat, conveniently far away from the corner where the Feds were. 'Not at all.' She nodded and left. She was about to take a seat on a comfy high chair when somebody coughed behind her.

'Detective Kinkaid…'

'Chief, hi, I just wanted to let you know my report is nearly ready, but I had to leave 'cause of some new clues on the Robbins case and..'

'Wow, TJ, TJ..'

'Yes?'

'Breathe!'

TJ took a breath. His face was reader than his hair.

'TJ…'

'Yes, Chief!'

Tara put a hand on his shoulder. 'You're not at work now, chill.'

TJ was staring.

'There's time for work and time for play – now it's time for play. Get a drink, relax.' She smiled as warmly as she could.

'Mm…'

'Go.' She patted him. 'Have fun.'

'He's never been that afraid of _me_ ,' came Strenlich's annoyed voice from behind. Kelly pulled him at a safe distance away from Tara, who had just ordered rum with coke.

Kermit approached. 'You're late.'

'And you're not to come from behind like that, it can be very unhealthy.'

He fixed his glasses and grinned.

'I'll remember that.'

They knocked glasses to seal their 'peace' and Tara casually leaned closer.

'Is Kelly Blake always this protective, or is it just with me.'

Kermit chuckled.

'Oh, _believe_ me, whether it's Strenlich, whether it's a tall, athletic stud, it matters not.'

'Ha…' She drunk. Then for a moment her head seemed to sink; she didn't even notice Commissioner Simms who just joined their company.

'Tara?'

'Mm..'

'You OK?'

'Yeah… Oh, hi, Karen!'

'Hello to the hero of the hour!' The two women hugged warmly. Nobody realized how and why they were so close, but that's because nobody knew that Karen had spent days keeping Tara company in the hospital in Houston so her partner could return to Sloanville and receive his promotion to captainhood. Nor did they know that the city now boasted the most advanced police academy in the country thanks to funds that Commissioner Simms obtained with Tara's assistance. There was _a lot_ they didn't know.

Besides, Karen Simms had to admit, of all women Peter had fallen for, Tara stood in a category of her own, and she liked her. She was by no means intimidated by the tall Chinese, which is why Tara liked her back.

'Just a day on the job.'

'That's one way to put it,' mumbled Kermit, images from the tournament rushing in his memory. 'Tonight's crooks are lucky nobody got crippled.'

'Really? Man… I've become such a softie…'

The three laughed.

'What's that?' All Karen wanted was to chat a little; she didn't expect Tara's grim response.

'Just a letter… from home… To remind me of what a dishonest, egoistic jerk I am…' She was playing with the envelope.

Karen and Kermit stared at each other. They knew nothing of Tara's home but that there was an apparently mythical Shaolin temple nearby and that it's been Tara's playground, all the way until she left China at the age of 16.

'Cracker?' Kermit knew how to break the ice. Tara helped herself and decided she might as well make a night out of it. She took her black coat off. She had changed into her ink-blue shirt but without the black blazer. The deep red scarf casually fell, revealing her long neck and a bit more than she was ready to give explanation for. She picked the scarf only to find Special Agent Maguire in beside her.

Tara took her usual polite expression but Jordan just stared. From behind Karen cleared her throat.

'Em, you may want to put that scarf back on…'

'Oh… Excuse me,' added she, looking at the young FBI agent and wrapped the scarf round her neck. 'It's not well healed yet.'

'Does it hurt?'

'N-no, not anym… No, it doesn't.'

 **XXXXX**

'I haven't seen you like this before.'

'It's just that… one can never be too careful,' said Blake and pointed at Franklin's body. 'Take care of him, will ya?'

Higgins was getting impatient. He pulled her with force.

'My services are expensive, Marilyn.'

Finally relaxed, she bit his lower lip and slid hand down his crotch, then squeezed.

'That's no prob, I'm a heavy tipper.' She knelt.

 **XXXXX**

Tara sipped, ordered a vodka-chilly cocktail and nested on her seat. The thing that caught Jordan unprepared was the fact that such a beautiful woman can have anything else on her body but perfect, silk skin, even if that's an Interpol top shot. At the base of her neck, Tara bore what was shaping out to be a sun-like mark. It looked a wound so deep that some parts were red, some blue, and the centre was a spot as purple as a king's mantle.

And no, Tara was not prepared to explain it to anyone, including not telling Jordan that it was the result of a bullet meant for her ex. Yes, that's how good Tara was – her complicated mind was so simply ordered, that 2+2 always made 4, and despite what people preferred to think, there was almost always a big, fat X marking the spot.

'May I?'

'...Sure…'

Tara felt _nearly_ awkward. Simms casually stepped aside. And, as Jordan didn't seem to be particularly talkative, and Tara had to divert attention from uncomfortable questions, she broke the silence.

'So, how are you fining it at FBI? I understand you were one of 1-0-1 crowd few years ago.'

'It's… it's good… Very much what I expected… Yes, definitely…' Jordan nodded more than was socially accepted and couldn't bring herself to look Tara in the eye. She drank from her wine and inspected the bar's liquor selection.

The truth was she'd been telling pretty much everybody how exciting her job was, what pros the Feds were, and generally how awesome her new career was and how it was everything she ever wanted. Of course it was. Most definitely. Absolutely. However, facing an agent with nearly mythical status she found little use of getting into unnecessary descriptions, mostly because she probably knew the FBI's real face better than the 'everybody' in Jordan's life.

'Well, enjoy it…'

'Agent Jahn… I mean…'

'Now it's _just_ Chief Jahn,' said Tara softly. Even though she was 5 years younger than Jordan, it felt and looked like she was a wise elder talking to a novice.

'Of course… Chief….' Jordan looked behind where her colleagues were, as if she was doing something wrong that they were not supposed to see. 'May I ask you something? That is, unless you're busy…'

Tara shrugged.

'Not at all, ask whatever you need.'

Jordan leaned and her voice dropped close to whisper.

'Why did you do it? Why did you quit?'

Tara was both flattered and surprised.

'And why do you want to know, you just got to know me.'

'But I've known of you for a long time.'

'You have?!' Now it was more uneasiness with flattery…

'You see… A profession like this is tough enough, and for a woman… it can border on a nightmare at times.'

'I get your point,' nodded Tara.

'So, women like you, or the La sisters..' Tara chuckled. '...or Gina Socaro from CIA…'

'Oh, she _is_ good, we've worked together.'

' 's what I mean – you, guys, speak for all women, every small step for you is a giant step for all women! ...Boy, that was tacky…'

Tara laughed.

'No… I get your point, though I had no idea I was this significant.'

'You are!'

'I just…. I learned very early that unless I hit first, men will run me over and send me to serve them tea and biscuits.' She emptied her glass and banged with it on the bar. 'I've made them hate and fear me, but unfortunately,' she looked at Jordan, 'that's the only way it works with Western men…'

'I agree on that, just… I don't think I could do it…'

'Be firm and… work on your upper body strength.' Tara squeezed then patted Jordan's arm which made the former cop rather uneasy. She didn't mean to be patronising, but she was hoping the federal agent would finally leave, this was becoming very much like a Greek comedy. Or tragedy?

'See…' Jordan leaned closer again. 'You were a legend. Everyone was talking that you could be the youngest general since…. Well, since Alexander…' Tara chuckled and shook head. 'Why would you leave, never mind us women. You have everyone's dream career. Had, I mean had.'

'Ah… Now I get it…'

'Well… Why did you quit?'

Tara sighed and looked at Jordan as the special agent was checking the entrance for probably the 10th time. Herself she had checked the club several times and she couldn't just like that tell Jordan that they were looking for the same man. The thought made her realize why she was so courteous with the inquisitive blond woman – guilt, it was guilt. Guilt, that tomorrow Jordan would be on her way back, living a life she most definitely wasn't happy about; guilt that Tara was most likely going to start what Jordan had ended; and above all – guilt that within a couple of days Tara and Jordan's ex had achieved a level of closeness that neither she, nor any of the multitude of _other_ ex-s had ever been even close to achieving.

 _'Why did I quit?'_

 _How can I tell you, Jordan? I never gave a proper explanation to my best friend, not even to Woodward. Who are you that I should explain it to_ _ **you**_ _, of all people?_

As Tara's second drink for the evening arrived, so did the answer: _You still have feelings for him, don't you? As does Jody, and probably Kelly… I barely know him and yet we're already close and intimate in a way that transcends carnal instincts. I'm sorry, Jordan, I really am._

'See… How do you imagine my life?'

'Well, travel, men at your feet, massive amount of medals, awards… money…'

'Yeah, I've got all that. And you know what I don't have? Time!'

'Time?!'

'Time. I can't spend my money, I can't go on holiday – I never had time. But what I did have was a condo in a skyscraper, where I'd sleep roughly 2-3 weeks per year.'

'But all that success… You're what, 30?'

'I'm 25.' Jordan gulped. 'And… when I'd come 'home', my success and I would have dinner, then we'd curl on the bed and have a good night's sleep, my success and I, just the two of us.'

Tara took a sip from her refilled glass and Jordan just remained silent, for a while.

'So… you just want family?! I can't believe it.'

Tara burst out laughing – this time it was nothing less than pity.

' _Just_ family, is that how successful career people call it now? _Just_ family?'

'Well, it's not much of an achievement, is it?'

The former Interpol super-cop just shook head.

'Didn't they say that 50% of marriages in America end with divorce?'

'Yeah, I think so. What has that…'

'In this case, it may not be an achievement, but is one that 50% of Americans find rather hard.' It was her turn to lean. 'The truth is I just needed a break, I closed the door at the Pol but left the windows open.' She winked.

'But… you're a cop now!'

'Oh, this… Kermit asked me, I owed him one. I've got a small inheritance in Sloanville, came to check it out, though I might as well help out a friend.'

'Wow, sounds great.'

'Nah, probably will end up selling it…'

'I don't think so,' came Kermit's grim voice from behind.

'Sneaking upon the ladies, Captain?'

'No, just you.' He stretched and tried her drink. 'Lord….' The girls laughed. 'How are you, Jordan?'

'Living the dream.' Tara's right eyebrow went up almost by itself. 'And congratulations on the captain thing, know I'm a bit late.'

'No probs.' He pointed at Tara. 'Don't listen to her, she's not going anywhere.'

'Am I not?'

'Not until I'm done with my part of the deal.' He wasn't smiling any more. 'After that do what you want.'

'Can't I go home?'

'Only. When I'm. _Done_.' Tara rolled eyes and Jordan looked bewildered.

'What?..'

'I was planning to go home to my village but this guy has other plans...Apparently.'

'So do I!' A new voice had joined the group. Tara recognised it.

'Martin?' She turned and saw a dark-blond man in his 40s smile at her. 'Martin Bradshaw!'

'Hey, buddy! Missed me?'

 **XXXXX**

Peter decided he'd better visit Goddard's home before dawn. He told nothing to his partners, for various reasons. Harris was anyway going to visit Franklin again in the morning, try to scare him into an unplanned move.

The night was still, the falling snow somehow exaggerating the stillness. Uneasy as usual Peter was helping himself to some linden flower tea; he couldn't even remember packing it. At least he remembered his strive to try and keep certain simplicity in the utilisation of herbs, nothing like the Ancient's alchemy potions.

Exhausted, his elbows landed heavily on the kitchen counter. The headache was not throbbing any more, by now he could feel his head pulsate.

They started before his blackout in the morning, several bright, flashing images. Few more snapped around noon. But the mayhem started during the talk with Goddard. Sea, forest, blood, mariachi, Shaolin temple, fight, audience, Shaolin disciples, white sand, dancing, volcano, pain, Lo Si, documents, his mother, Kermit, flight, motorcycles, anger – a grotesque sequence of hundreds of incoherent, absolutely irrelevant to each other images, was rushing down his mind like an avalanche. Where had he been? Volcano?! Yet, it was there – in his tarnished memory - a weird side-wise eruption… and his father. And tears. And Paul. And an unknown red-haired woman...

The kettle was bubbling. Peter turned the heat off and let the brew simmer. The sound of water falling on tiles at the distance reminded him that his host for the evening was taking a shower.

He thought about her. Why was it that he didn't want to go to the end with her? Nobody knew him here, none of them was in a relationship, he hadn't touched a woman for nearly 2 years…

Peter shuddered. Yes, _this_ he remembered, his _body_ remembered, and no, he definitely didn't expect his new career to have this kind of side effect.

The sound of falling water muffled. Peter poured tea and drank directly. Then out of nowhere he opened few kitchen drawers until in one of them he finally found an ice cream scoop. It was good and heavy. He even tested it – it was fit to hammer steaks with it. He hit his palm. Then again, a tad stronger. He grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter as tight as he could and held the scoop with other hand.

1… 2….

'What are you doing?'

Before he thought of a suitable lie Harris grabbed the scoop.

'Are you actually losing your mind?'

He was pale.

'I think I'm getting there.'

'This is only a temporary solution.' She waved the scoop in front of his face and demonstratively threw it in the nearest drawer. 'Want ibuprofen?'

'That's temporary, too.' Peter went back to his tea.

'Tea?'

'Sure, thanks.'

He handed her a steaming cup and finally noticed that her only peace of clothing was a pink towel round her torso and one round the head. She was barefoot. Her skin looked perfect.

Peter considered again. Now _this_ could work…

'What?' Joanna noticed the change in his expression and her stomach flipped.

'I don't know how long I can take it. This…'

'Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?' She came closer.

'No, no, they'll just say the same thing.'

'Can I do anything at all?'

He left his mug on the counter, his free hand pulling her gently.

'Maybe…'

They kissed.

 **XXXXX**

Tara's stern features underwent a change so dramatic that pretty much the whole place was looking how she jumped off her seat and threw herself round the neck of a Robert Redford doppelganger who was as tall as she was.

'It was about time!' They hugged tight and then he cupped her head with both hands and examined her.

'It was too long and you look… awful…'

She chuckled.

'And you look great!' She ruffled his hair and invited him to the bar.

'No way, my treat.' Jordan moved away to make space, so did Kermit, only he also did a short, barely-there nod with his head. It was enough, however, for the person it was intended for to reciprocate.

Agent Bradshaw was about to order, still hugging Tara, when the corner of his eye caught a motion behind. The instinct was to turn immediately, and unlike hundreds of times before, he found himself completely unprepared.

'Wow!' whispered he.

'What?'

'Who is that?'

'Who…'

'Come on, introduce me!' He pulled a very confused Tara and headed for a table in the corner, right by an odd-looking crawling plant (which everyone was calling Gary).

'Hello!' purred Martin.

'H-hi,' said Mary Margaret.

Martin shrugged Tara; she almost fell.

'Uhm, Mary Margaret, this it my good friend from Interpol, Agent Martin Bradshaw.' Martin nodded. 'Martin, this is Detective Mary Margaret Scalany, one of my best officers.'

'Enchanté!' Scalany stretched her hand but instead of shaking it, as was the custom, Martin kissed it, his eyes never leaving Mary Margaret's blushing face.

'I…' Her head was empty. She looked at Tara for help, but her new chief seemed equally speechless.

'Right, I..' Nobody paid her attention, so quietly Tara headed back to her seat.

'I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Scalany! It… is Miss, right?' Martin sat and tried to give Mary Margaret the softest look he was capable of.

'Mhm.' Scalany stuttered. Her knees gave in and she sat back to her seat. 'H-ha…' She cleared her throat. 'Have you been to Sloanville before, Agent Bradshaw?'

'A couple of times, but I never had time to appreciate its beauty.' He smiled; she was struggling to draw a breath. Not bearing his overpowering sight she looked away and all of a sudden remembered a tiny detail.

'Em… Th-this is my colleague, Detective Jody Powell…' Opposite was Jody, leaning bored on one arm, holding a half-empty glass. (it was actually almost full, but for many reasons, Jody Powell's glasses were always half-empty)

'Oh, I'm sorry!' Martin _really_ had not noticed that there was a second person on the table. Actually, the moment he laid eyes on Mary Margaret, all other persons ceased to exist. 'A pleasure to meet you, Detective…'

'Powell. It's Powell!' was the hurt answer. She put so much pressure on the [p] that she spat a bit.

'Detective Powell!' Martin nodded, or bowed, even he wasn't sure. He showed no inclination on kissing any part of hers so they shook hands, as was the custom. 'I… Oh, where's she… oops!..' His eyes returned to Scalany and his voice back to cotton candy in right under 2 seconds. 'May I offer you a drink, Miss?'

'Please, call me Marg…. Sc… Call me M-mary Marg-garet, everybody does.'

'Really?' Jody was talking to her glass.

'OK, Mary Margaret…'

'A-actually I was about to go get another when you…. When….'

'What are you drinking?'

'Just wine…'

'No, no, no, you cannot drink just wine!'

'I can't?!'

'You can drink only the best of wines!' purred he and got up. 'Care for another gin tonic, Detective Powell?'

'Yes! Please!' She spat again and kept murmuring when he disappeared. 'So I'm not Miss?… Dope!' She looked back at Scalany, at which moment her friend probably didn't even remember her name. Mary Margaret was merely following Martin's every move; she felt like she was flying.

'He looks like Robert Redford, doesn't he?'

'I think I'll puke,' replied Jody with aversion. Mary Margaret was neither seeing not hearing.

 **XXXXX**

She was trying to take his breath, or it seemed, so eager she was. He thought that this is probably why didn't enjoy it as much as he usually enjoyed kisses, from what he remembered at least. But he didn't stop, why should he?

She pulled away and led him to the living area. By the couch she stopped and her hands weaved themselves into his hair, she kissed him even more eagerly. Slowly he sat down. Joanna used the chance to push and straddle him. She leaned and they kissed again, then those towels finally fell.

Peter observed with delight but his face remained fairly expressionless. She eagerly made her way to his belt while his hands slid down her back. He got up and gently removed her hair, kissing the neck.

 _'Are you going to wait for me?'_

He startled.

'What's wrong?'

'What did you say?'

'I said if anything was wrong.'

'No, no, before that.'

'N-nothing…'

Peter checked his surroundings. The air was humid with the aroma of freshly boiled linden tea. The only light was coming from the kitchen.

'Are you sure we're alone?'

Out of sheer respect for him, Harris also looked around.

'I _believe_ we are.'

The moment he removed attention from the detective's sensual ministrations the flow of images reappeared. It never ceased, as a matter of fact, just he had _really_ tried to concentrate his attention on something else.

Peter's features softened. He kissed her. She responded, her desire stronger than her logic, which is why she decided not to pay attention to his disturbingly empty gaze. He refused to give up. Contrary to, or rather _because_ of the total lack of cooperation from his brain, and his body, Peter continued to try and force himself into something that was clearly not going to happen.

 **XXXXX**

Her talk with Tara suddenly over, Jordan headed for one of the tables. Her visit at the precinct had been all about work and she didn't have the chance to meet the old friends.

'Hey you!'

'Heeey!'

Morgan hugged her former colleague.

'How are you?' asked Jordan warmly and held her friend's shoulders.

Morgan got the chills immediately. There it was, the pity, the sympathy. She'd expect that at least Jordan would understand her.

'Let's sit.'

Morgan tried to chit-chat on anything but her elephant in the room. The talk inevitably drifted to the precinct's new faces.

'He's cute…'

'Morris is pain in the neck. He's new, like the chief.'

'And the tall one, ehm…'

'Callahan. He's a veteran now, he was the replacement of P…'

It was not one elephant, actually, it was an entire jungle.

'Oh…'

Jordan felt obliged to speak first. 'Jan, it's ok, it's been nearly two years now, come on…'

'I know, just… You know…' They both laughed.

'So, do you keep any contact with him at all?'

'Who, Peter? Of course! He's here nearly as often as ever, just… more low-key.'

'Is he still doing that street kids thing?'

'Yes…' Morgan's voice took a strange curve, like Peter was supposed to be doing anything else. 'He's also teaching kung fu.'

'Is he? How nice. And… do you know…'

'He's very busy, I haven't seen him with a woman since J…'

'Got it.'

Another awkward silence followed. Jordan had managed to play it friendly with Kelly but with Jody it was plain impossible. And since none of the two women really knew what ever happened between Jody and Peter, they were both desperate to change the topic.

'So, the new chief is quite the character, ain't she?'

'She's alright.'

'She must be thinking very highly of herself…' Women hated Tara. For reasons that only women could fathom. But they despised her. Always. Wherever she went. All of them. Jordan was no exception.

'She is alright, Jordan, she really is.'

Morgan, as it seemed, was an exception.

The detective finally opened about her personal tragedy and how Tara helped her reintegrate to life in 101st. There had hardly been another time when Special Agent Maguire had felt so much like a total jerk as now. She so badly wanted Chief Jahn to be the cold-hearted bitch everybody thought her to be, and then _this_.

'Janice…. That's incredible. Really. I… I'm sorry I rushed judging her…'

'Told you she's cool.'

'And did you really get a book?'

'Yes, _Pride and Prejudice_ – can you believe I never read it? It's great.'

'Better than the series?' The ladies giggled.

'And the chocolates were to-die-for. ...And, as for Chief Jahn, you saw for yourself – she's really, really good in what she does.'

'Yes…' No, Jordan had no intention on becoming an exception… Which is why she felt rather playful.

'Do you think she's seeing anybody?'

'I really don't know, hon.'

'I'll ask her.'

Jordan finished her wine and headed for the bar where Tara was talking to the Redford look-a-like.

 **XXXXX**

Joanna's fingers kept crawling under his sweater. Peter tried to relax and let her kiss his chest, desperate to make his body get in the game. However, the only thing moving was the former cop's topsy-turvy mind.

The now very excited lady came close and kissed him on the lips, too aroused to pay attention to the fact that her intended lover wasn't even looking at her.

This time he heard it clearer, it came from inside his head.

 _'I'll be working for you till the end of time if I have to.'_

He stopped. Automatically his free arm pushed the lady to the side. He tried to get up but froze midways, his mouth opened like he was about to say something, but he didn't. He got up.

'What is it now? We're completely alone, Peter!' Harris was not a happy camper. She was actually getting pretty angry, and for a reason.

'I…' Peter was still staring at the nowhere then abruptly he turned. 'Something has happened. I… I have to meditate.'

Out of politeness he faked a smile and caressed her bare shoulder, in the friendliest of ways. Too friendly. She didn't exactly appreciate it. Clumsily she wrapped the towel round her body and ran to her room, the banging of her door being the only sound.

Not particularly moved, Peter poured the remaining tea.

'That was close,' exhaled he in a quiet relief and kissed the pendant round his neck, this time pretty conscious about it. He was about to go back to the guest room when almost had to smack himself on the head. He went back and opened the cupboard hiding the one thing he hadn't tried yet – booze. He took the nearly-full bottle of scotch away.

The tea remained alone on the kitchen counter.

 **XXXXX**

Martin made a gesture to the bartender to come over.

'A bottle of your best wine… Got Bordeaux?'

'I'll check,' was the cold reply.

'Um, and a glass of gin tonic…' He looked at Tara who was on leaning on her hand, only her expression was not as bored as Jody's. '...And a glass of Bacardi…' He looked at her again, just with the corner of his eyes. '...black, with lemon zest.' She kept staring. 'On the rocks.'

Finally he returned Tara's unbearable look.

'What?'

'Are you high?'

'Only high on life, dear.' He grinned.

She checked his forehead.

'Hm, you are a bit warm…'

'I'm not sick. Stop it!' He passed his credit card much to the bartender's displeasure. 'Hey, pal…' He added 20$ tip. Now the bartender was also smiling. 'Let say that… I've taken a new approach to life.'

'Which is…'

'Cease the moment, life's too short.' He continued in broken Cantonese. ' **There's no yesterday, or tomollyow,' Tara chuckled. '...There's only today.** '

'You mean **tomorrow**?'

'Whatever.' He took the bottle and the gin to the table and came back for the rest. 'Coming?'

'Sure, in a while.'

'Tara, what's wrong?'

'You shouldn't keep the lady waiting.' Martin looked back and made Scalany a sign that he'd be back in a minute. She nodded and smiled, that was enough.

'I've got that covered. Now, what's up?'

'It's a complicated answer…' She was playing with a yellowing envelope that must have been white at some point.

'OK… For the time being, right now, in this moment, what's wrong _now_?'

'You're sounding like a Buddhist, you know.'

'That's because I am.'

She nearly broke her neck when she turned to him.

'...When?'

'You know all those family influences people talk about? Think they have a point.'

'You'll tell me some other time.' She opened the envelope.

'I will, of course. What's that?'

' _That_ is a letter from home.'

'Right, you haven't been there yet, have you?'

'Nope.'

'And it's not good news?'

'Oh, it's excellent news.' She took the letter which had arrived with nearly a month delay and showed him a photo. 'That's Lo, a boy I used to take care of.'

The photo was of a young, well built man with shaved head, he was outside a temple.

'He was this shy, chubby kid with spotty face. His dream was to be a priest and I supported him as much as humanly possible. I promised him that not only was he to become a priest but that I'd be there, by his side, watching him take the brands.'

She smiled bitterly. Behind them was Jordan, she never approached to ask her question, she didn't have to; she only listened, unable to move or hear anything else.

'And there he is now,' continued Tara, 'A priest! He's taken the brands of the Shaolin order, _my_ order, more than a month ago and where was I? Stuck in the middle of my life's nowhere…'

Without a single sound Jordan left and returned to her colleagues. She remained quiet for the rest of the evening.

'Hey, hey…' Martin tried to hug her but she nervously shrugged his arm off.

'Nearly 10 years I've been away and at what cost? What for? What was the point?'

'Look, look, you obviously need sleep. The important thing is that I'm here now, you're finally taking care of your father's house, and everything will be ok. I promise!'

'Sure. Of course. By the way, don't get too excited about the house, I'll be moving to a hotel one of these days.'

'Why?!'

'It's too big, too cold. It's oppressively empty. But you can still see it, of course.'

'Well, yeah!'

Tara smiled and leaned towards her friend, just enough not to worry Scalany.

'And it's not all bad, you know, Ja Chen is coming.'

'Wasn't that your best friend from childhood?'

'Best friend _and_ sparring buddy,' laughed Tara. 'Yes, he's coming with the circus, apparently he's acrobat now.' She giggled. 'I really miss him.'

'There you go! Now, coming for another round?'

'How can I say no?'

Tara never let herself sulk too long. Besides, tonight was all about Martin and, apparently, his new crush. Tara lagged behind and observed him. He _was_ changed, and that was not only the sudden interest in her native tongue. Fate made it so that they had had very little time together for the past 3 years and all Tara knew was that her friend was no longer nobody's son and they both had agreed that Martin had to figure it for himself first before he could give her any details. He only told her she'd like it.

The precinct's new chief grabbed her coat and her drink and joined the party.

 **X**

'Sorry to barge in, don't mind me.' Tara was talking mostly for the sake of Jody's inhospitable look. 'I'll just sit here and… try to figure what's wrong with him.' She pushed Martin gently.

'Do you have to be such a pest?'

'That's what I do, Marty.'

'Don't call me that!' hissed he and smiled back to Mary Margaret.

'I like it… Marty?…'

'That… that's not a name I use in public,' said Martin and glared and Tara. Then he tried to change the subject. 'Now if you allow me, I'd like to propose a toast, to the old friends,' he looked at Tara, 'and to the new opportunities!' He looked at Mary Margaret; all of a sudden she flushed again.

'Cheers!'

'So, guys… Have you known each other for long?' It occurred to Jody she should try dig out some dirt and hopefully help her friend wake up.

The two friends were completely undeterred, they only smiled mischievously at each other.

'Well,' started Tara, 'I joined the Pol pretty much immediately after I left my village and this guy here took me under his wing.' She squeezed his arm. 'I don't think I would have survived without him.'

Victoriously Jody saw the growing discomfort with Mary Margaret.

'The truth is I was absolutely furious – she was only 16 for Heaven's sake!' He smiled. 'We started feeding the machine with children. I couldn't allow them take advantage of her talents.'

'So… you were invited to join Interpol as a teenager?' Scalany would not give up easy.

'Let say it started with a few soldiers that found the hard way that messing with sixteen-year-old girls can be rather painful. One was an Interpol top-dog, and I wanted to get out of there as soon as can be. The rest is history.'

'Is that normal?'

'Actually it is,' added Martin. 'Agencies love hiring orphans or even kids from the street with special talents. They train them, they usually become some of the best and… they usually don't live to see retirement.' He looked proudly at Tara. 'Not all of them, of course.'

'That sounds like a story from the movies,' smiles Scalany. She was determined not to feel threatened.

'You serious?'

Tara and Martin preferred not hear Jody's remark, but Tara's female intuition was practically screaming at her that certain clarification was in order.

'And so we became friends. Martin is like a…'

'Do **not** say father, I'm warning you!' He shook finger.

'...an older brother! Jeez, one joke, man.'

'It wasn't funny. I'm not that old'

'Old? Not at all, you're what… 35?' She winked at Mary Margaret and took a sip from her drink.

Scalany's initial discomfort receded. In fact, she fell ever more comfortable, she fell….in the right moment, in the right time.

'How long have you been in Interpol, Martin?'

'Haha, nice try.'

'He won't tell you,' grinned Tara and poked her former colleague.

'How long have **you** been in 101st?'

'Since I left the Academy, pretty much.'

Martin moved unnerved.

'Scalany here,' added Tara, 'prides herself with being the youngest cop in the history of 101st, ever, to make it to detective.'

'Indeed.' Mary Margaret folded arms in a proud manner. Few people knew this little achievement of hers, and experience taught her not to share it too openly.

'You're what… 3rd in Sloanville?'

'Second, if you please.'

'Look at that,' purred Martin and his eyes concentrated on the brunette even more. 'Tough and pretty, I like that.'

'No…' Mary Margaret blushed. The fact that he made her that specific compliment in Tara's presence made it count twice.

'Jesus.' Jody waved the bartender to keep the alcohol coming.

Martin's mood, however changed. He remembered a little detail and that quickly sobered him up. Nobody realised it. On the contrary, Mary Margaret's bravery was growing.

'So, did you mention earlier you're an orphan?'

'Yeah… well…'

'There we go again…'

Martin pushed Tara and tried to answer without too many details.

'I am… was…. Am an orphan… I was raised by my aunt…. My story is like Jane Eyre's.'

'How?'

'You know, my relatives blamed me for my mother's sins, sent me to a boarding school, so the home harassment was finished fairly early.'

'I'm so sorry!' Instinctively she put hand on his, which was the first sign for the other two ladies that they were slowly becoming redundant.

'At least my story has a happy ending – I became a decent cop and discovered a father and brothers who are very much alive and.. and I'm not nobody anymore…' He looked at his feet as if feeling guilty that he was no longer the bastard he'd been raised to believe he was.

Tara shook head.

'That's amazing, Martin, I said it before, and I say it again – nobody deserves it more than you do.'

'Your turn will come, Tara,' he said very quietly.

'And until then – I want to know everything. It's an embarrassment that your best friend doesn't know about the most important event in your life.'

'And you will. Set the date and we'll go on a long overdue catch-up dinner.'

'The hell we will!'

Tara nodded at the other two ladies and got up.

'Now, if you excuse me, it's time for mommy to go to bed.'

Martin jumped.

'Already?'

'Martin, I'm tired, I really am.'

He saw the barely flickering life in her eyes.

'I can see that. OK… well… Good night, sweetie!'

Tara was fixing her coat. She rolled eyes and hit him, then turned to Scalany.

'He's a great guy, but doesn't know a squat about women.' Then she looked at her friend. 'If you're trying to win a lady you don't call another one 'sweetie' in her presence, you dope.'

Martin fell his palms sweat.

'Right…'

Tara grabbed her bag and turned to Scalany again.

'I'll work with him, he's got potential.' Then she patted her friend's cheek. 'Still wonder why you're ever single?'

'No, not really…'

'OK, dear, I'll see you tomorrow, right?'

He turned to the ladies on the table.

'You see, she keeps doing it!'

'Martin, 'dear' – ok, 'sweetie' – not so much.'

The turned to the detectives – they were nodding in agreement.

'Won't you leave finally?' He moved her chair to make way – he was a proper gentleman, after all. 'Join me for breakfast tomorrow?'

'Sure, can do. Have you changed your hotel?'

'Have we met before?'

' _Four Seasons_ it is. I'll see you tomorrow then. Bye, ladies.'

A second later Martin was back on his chair and completely at the mercy of Scalany's eyes. Tara shook head and tried to head for the exit but there were more people that wanted to bid her good night.

'Leaving early, Chief?'

'Staying late, Marsters?'

'We're celebrating.' He was content and relaxed, so much that he casually laid hand on Jordan's leg. She removed it nervously and glared at him. Tactfully Tara pretended she hadn't seen anything.

'Well, cheers then, for the successful operation!' Her own glare made Marsters far more uncomfortable than Jordan's. Then she left.

'Another round, Langue?'

'Hit me!' said Langue and burped. 'Ahh, good night, my future wife!'

'Can you get any less professional, Scott,' came Jordan's voice.

'I'm trying, sweet cheeks,' he purred and grabbed his 3rd beer for the evening. 'But this woman… she is something.'

'More air than substance I say,' said Strenlich who had come over to discuss his private investigation with Marsters. Behind them Agent Bradshaw was finding it ever more difficult to pretend he was not hearing their banter.

'Oh…' Marsters himself thought so but after what he saw tonight, even his prejudice towards the 25-year-old had been numbed down.

'I've had enough of them hot shots with hero complex.' He ordered another beer.

' _Hero complex_?' Martin couldn't hold himself any longer. 'Jeez, people, don't they teach you psychology in the Police Academy? They still did in my time…'

He didn't even get up, as if others were supposed to be standing in his presence.

'I know how agents with _Hero complex_ look like, Chief, I've worked with them,' he said and glared severely at Strenlich who had found himself trapped and with no other choice but to listen. 'They're usually inconsiderate egoists who seek every chance to show off how good they are. They care about nobody but themselves and their thoughtlessness ends up with casualties, almost without exception.'

He got up. 'Let me tell you about people like Tara Jahn. They do care, only too much; the only people they don't care about are themselves.'

The company got still, everyone was listening. Martin noticed nothing and continued.

'Suiciders?' said Langue casually and burped again.

'No, agent. I'm sure you can read about them in your old books. I mean the kind of folk one step before the suicide, but fortunately too sane to go there. They care about the people around them so much that they'd gladly die for them. People like Tara simply consider others' lives much more precious than their own. They don't go alone into battle to show off, but to protect their fellow officers. They want to make sure that the whole thing will go down with as little casualties as possible. And if there's dying to be done, they're your men.'

A few detectives bent eyes full of guilt.

'And they're easily recognised. Search for the loners; people with no close family to relay to, people who have been through tragedies, loss, abandonment. Such people don't care what happens to them. They believe if they died no one would give a shit, no one would notice. They keep to themselves and let no one near them.

Now everyone was looking down, Strenlich included. 'I got it,' he said.

'In your new Lieutenant's case, for instance, if there are officers with families, children, or even simply officers in a relationship, she'd put herself in front of an army rather than having them risking their lives.'

'There's always someone in a relationship,' remarked gravely Jordan.

'Yeah, well… exactly. Look for the orphan on the squad. They usually make amazing agents and officers, safe many lives and rarely live to see grand-children. They die heroes, but they don't live like such.'

Martin looked at Strenlich who didn't dare return the look; Martin had hit a sore spot. 'So, Chief Strenlich, next time you blame Tara Jahn for playing the hero and not acting by the book, remember… she's probably saving your life… or your officers'…'

'Another drink?' he asked Mary-Margaret very gently and sat back to his table.

'Yes, please,' she answered very quietly and for a moment got lost in his enigmatic eyes. Again.

Only the two men from FBI were fairly lively, not particularly touched by Agent Bradshaw's words. Marsters broke the silence.

'Interesting picture… Very true, I have to admit. She still acted foolishly, however.'

'…said the special agent who was glad to observe the whole thing comfortably from his corner, armed with binoculars.' Kermit also came to wish good night but he also needed to say something, on top of his delicate relations with Strenlish.

Martin offered a fresh glass to Skalany and continued, mostly talking to Kermit, though ti was meant for others.

'Let me guess… The gang's leaders stranded from the main group, went in a direction nobody would have guessed because it was judged as too improbable, and Tara was waiting _right_ there because she was the only one who had the balls to suggest the impossible…'

By the agents' amazed look Martin knew he hit the target.

'That's my girl!'

With content look he offered cheers to Mary Margaret and turned again, this time towards the Feds.

'Let me guess again… She waited for them to come close, landed from nowhere on top or near them, and then laced them faster than you can spell your name?'

Score again.

'How many, 3... 4?'

'Five,' answered Marsters, _really_ quietly.

Martin lifted glass in a silent cheer and turned back to Mary-Margaret after he took a sip.

'How's the wine? I took the liberty of getting you something a little bit more… elegant.'

'I love it! Why did you choose that for me?'

'Because I thought it would suit you. I was right.' He took another sip and Skalany felt her cheeks burn again.

'So, I guess there's no point in me asking her for a drink?' Langue showed remarkable stubbornness.

Martin turned and explored him with contempt. 'Nope, sorry, you're not her type.'

' 'Cause she can take me, right?'

'Oh, no, that's only the cherry on the cake.'

'What's her type then,' asked Marsters out of sheer curiosity.

'I've no damn idea,' shrugged Martin. 'As far as I'm concerned 99% of Earth's male population doesn't fit. Someone who can handle her, I guess…if he exists. …So, you buddy over there - aim lower.' Martin winked at him and decided it was time to concentrate entirely on his beautiful partner.

Agent Bradshaw took too much pleasure in defending the honour of his protégée to notice the deep effect his little speech had made on the detectives. Plagued by guilt Strenlich finished his drink and left hastily, briefly kissing Kelly and telling her they would meet home. The talk with Marsters could wait.

As for Martin Bradshaw, he had no idea that five minutes ago he had delivered the psychological profile of his own nephew…

 **X**

Morgan was amongst the last to leave. Not that she didn't have to work tomorrow – she decided she'd start for once living her life. So she drank two of the most expensive cocktails the place had to offer and finally decided it was time to go home. She found Jordan as we was coming from the restroom.

'OK, I gotta go now.'

'Sorry we didn't chat more…'

'Don't worry. As long as you're happy with your life.'

'Of course. It's awesome, Janice, it's… everything I expected it to be, and more.' She nodded again too much than was accepted in the cases of people content with their lives. 'Mom and dad are so proud!'

'And…' Janice leaned closer. 'How is Don?'

'Oh, he's great; he's a professional, he's ambitious… And he's… yes, he's great. My parents love him.'

'He doesn't forget your birthdays, I assume.'

'No, he doesn't forget anything,' grinned Jordan and casually waved her elegant wrist which sported a glorious white gold bracelet with blue topaz stones.

'Wow!'

'And the necklace…'

'Stunning!'

'I know.'

'Well, you deserve it, Jordy.'

Jordan smiled. Of course she did. Her parents were so proud. And everyone praised her. She was finally on the right career path. Of course she deserved it!

'Coming, honey? ...Detective!' Marsters was way more courteous than in the morning.

'Be right there.' Jordan was putting her scarf. 'I guess we're leaving tomorrow. Keep in touch, ok?'

'Of course!'

The two friends hugged and parted. Janice prepared to leave and by the way noticed Jody leaving with Morris.

Jordan looked one last time at her former hangout – yes, she was happy. Of course she was. Totally.

 **X**

Fortunately she had showered at the precinct, so Tara had the satisfaction on diving under the blankets immediately. She only made her sleeping tea and settled for the night – nightmares or not, she had to sleep… somehow.

The flames in the fire place were her favourite companion now. Naturally she was happy that Martin was here but he had more pleasant engagements now. She smiled; of them two at least one had to find happiness eventually.

Tara closed eyes and remembered what life was like few days ago, few days and five seconds ago, to be more precise, when life was good… at least better. Hard to believe what five miserable seconds can do to your world. Before those fateful seconds everything was simple, there were no names and the past they drag with them. Five seconds before which she was just _Tara_ , and _he_ was just _Peter_ , two anonymous who had only future ahead of them. Five seconds _after_ and they suddenly had names: he was a Caine, descendant of one of the most ancient and revered lineages of Shaolin, and she was Jahn, Lee from her mother's side, and kin to one of the world's most wanted crime lords, who also happened to be mortal enemy of the aforementioned revered lineage.

She turned on the other side with a groan and tried to sleep.

 **X**

In another world away from nightmares and miserable past, a new couple was born. At least it was getting there. Martin and Mary Margaret knew nothing of each other, pasts were non-existent, as was everything that surrounded them.

At one point Mary Margaret turned to ask Jody's opinion of a particularly funny joke and was astonished to find her seat empty.

'I hope I won't get you in trouble.'

'Not at all.' Smiled she, and kept smiling for the rest of the evening.

They were the last of the gang to leave Chandler's, and as if that was not enough, Martin took her on an improvised midnight snack at a local sushi bar.

The night was ominously warm for this time of year and Mary Margaret predicted massive storms, as apparently had happened in 93' when they had had summertime for the Chinese New Year and Arctic winter 48 hours later.

They walked, and laughed, and talked. Yes the unknown was plaguing them, both had hidden fears and as it seemed, only Mary Margaret dared talk about them.

The taxi stopped few blocks from her place.

'I've never been to San Francisco.'

'Don't worry, it's overrated.'

'Really?'

'N-no, not really, it's quite lovely.'

'Are you teasing me? And I was hoping you'd take me there someday.' She was practically purring.

'I'd love to. As long as we keep away from the quarter where my relatives live…'

'You mean your family?'

'I mean my relatives. My _family_ is in France… and in Sloanville. You know, my father, my brothers and nephew, Tara.' The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced he'd better skip the Shaolin-related details.

'OK…' Mary Margaret stopped. 'I gotta ask.'

'Anything.'

'Look, I know it's too soon and maybe too personal, but I need to know – is there anything between you and the Chief? Or is there going to be in the future, has there been in the past?'

Having heard the question hundreds of times before, Martin massaged his temple.

'I just don't want to walk into something,' she continued. 'I went through this bad heartbreak two years ago and it was the hardest thing I've done in my life and… I just can't afford it one more time. And normally I wouldn't ask, but you're turning out to be so great and….' Martin put a finger on her cold lips.

'If I had a nickel every time a woman asked me that, I'd be a rich man. I do understand where you're coming from. Tara is… OK, for a long time she _was_ the only real family I've had. We've been through thick and thin, and she's the only person in the world I'd trust implicitly.'

He felt Mary Margaret relax.

'She is like a sister to me and even the idea of anything intimate to me feels like incest.'

Mary Margaret smiled.

'Well, I'll ask, too, better get this over with now – Tara is a part of my life, I owe it to her to begin with. My relationship with her has costed me at least four...maybe five or more intimate relationships and while women tend to cheat, lie, break my heart – she's the _one_ woman who'll never do it.' He came closer and took Scalany's hands in his. 'I really think we're onto something great here, Mary Margaret. It would be a shame not to give it a try but I must know you're OK with Tara being in my life. Otherwise… I'll be wasting the time of both of us.'

'So you're saying you're not attracted to her, and there's no prospect of you waking up some morning and realising she's the love of your life?'

He giggled.

'God no! Jeez… To begin with, she's not even my type and between the two of us.' He lowered his voice. 'As a woman she scares the living days out of me,' he whispered and then they both laughed.

Mary Margaret had nothing to lose and if anything, she'd acquired a very zen attitude towards life.

'If you say there's nothing, then… I trust you.' She heard him exhale in relief. 'Making the other one chose between you and something or someone else is cruel and selfish, I'd never do it to you.'

Gently he massaged her hands and for a couple of seconds they did nothing but look at each other.

'That's me.'

'What?'

'My place – I live over there.'

'Ah…' He had to exhale again. 'OK, let me help you…' He gave her a hand to jump over a treacherous puddle, then saw her enter the building that had been her home for nearly a decade now.

'I'll see you tomorrow?'

'Most definitely!'

They smiled and another seconds-long pause Martin leaned slowly and kissed her, very gently, as if her lips were made of sugar.

She disappeared in her building but he waited faithfully until on of the third floor windows filled with with light and her silhouette waved him good night.

He felt light and happy as never before; he could scarcely believe his luck, actually. The moment he thought that, though, another thought crept it – a heartbreak. She's been a cop in the same precinct as his nephew, she without doubt knew him, and she's had a heartbreak, working side by side with a prolific heartbreaker.

Martin decided firmly his connection to former detective Caine would remain a secret, for now at least. It was also for security's sake after all…

He was about to call a taxi when his phone rang.

'There we go… Bradshaw listening. …Jeez… Yes… Yes…. I'm there, I'm there… Where?...No casualties, that's new… Yes, OK, OK, I'm coming, I'm coming.'

He shut the phone.

'Shit.'

XXXXX

 **END OF PART I**


End file.
